Seasons of Poison
by Carnivorous
Summary: Some hearts have grown too fond of the poison war brings. He's working to keep it at bay, but it's seeping into their lives, bit by bit; season by season. She thought the war was over, that they had finally found the peace they deserved. Post MJ.
1. Prologue

**If you have not read Turning Tables and wish to read this, I recommend you read it first. It's short, 6 chapters and you can find it on my page. Enjoy! (Though it is not 100% necessary to read it first, but it helps).  
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**To all of you that have read Turning Tables...**

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><p>For nearly an entire year following my games, I would look in mirrors and see some ruthless bloody murderer. My eyes were a vicious brown, rather than a warm chocolate shade. Even my hair and skin seemed ferocious. Then I got used to it. It slowly came to light that my personality had always be somewhat savage and predatory, and I learned to live with everything I had done. I realized everything I had done had been done out of necessity.<p>

My limbs were gaunt for a while, I could never bring myself to eat. I was ravenous, but never for food, and never for something that I actually understood. In the mirror was just a small lonely girl, so misplaced in her own life it was sad.

Now though. Now, it's completely different.

My eyes aren't warm; I think only Gale ever perceives them as something other than menacing. Expression that find their way onto my face look sour more often than not. I look healthier and happier than I ever have, though. Maybe I grew an inch since I was seventeen.

Anyways. Gone are the days of abysmal misery. Here are the days of...

I turn in the mirror, the light bouncing off the curves that have found their way onto my body.

Here are the days of motherhood.


	2. Fall One

**okay, I know. it's been what, 3 months? I'm sorry. I just had the craziest semester of life, and I'm finally done except for exams now. I had no inspiration for the longest time too, and I hope this makes up for the long wait. the "Three years earlier" is three years earlier than the prologue. anyways, I'm sorry for the long wait, and enjoy!**

**and review... please (:**

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><p><em>Three years earlier<em>

Today... today is the day. No privacy is to be had, no secrets to be kept. Today we put it out for everyone so see. Today, I am on show for every prying eye.

The early autumn bite blows into the small preparation tent, the flaps that are the entrance billowing slightly. A chill runs up my spin. Only Two has these sort of afternoons, sunny yet cold.

"You ready?" Katniss asks quietly, placing a tentative hand on my arm. I nod, though I don't think I could ever prepare enough for this. Her eyes are bright and alive, so different than they always used to be. In her right hand she holds a bouquet of apricot orange roses, simpler than the one that Melaina is about to place in my grasp.

Beyond the calming whisper of the breeze are the incessant clicking of cameras. My hands shake as I take the bouquet from Melaina. "Don't worry," she says in her soft voice. "Once you see each other..."

I turn to look in the mirror once more. The dress designer has left, as have the hairdressers and make-up artists. There are one or two attendants left, I see now, standing on the opposite side talking about the weather. Melaina turns me back to face her and Katniss both wearing lilac coloured silk gowns. Katniss looks frozen, unaccustomed to Two's weather, while Melaina looks entirely at ease. It's difficult to believe that she's Archer's wife; if I were married to the man I'd be beyond crazy.

Outside of the tent is a boardwalk, flanked on the far side by regal trees, some evergreens, others golden and brown with the change of the season. The walk curves left and disappears. An attendant is there suddenly, beckoning Katniss forwards. Melaina follows, and they disappear a moment later. Music starts.

This is it.

I wanted a classy wedding, the whole deal. When I said that out loud in a public place though, it was assumed that I wanted a giant public affair. Gale just wanted a toasting, but I wasn't about to settle for just that. This is District 7 style, a white gown, a small procession, guests in rows watching the entire spectacle and an officiant conducting the affair. The music playing now is a mash-up between a classic Seven song and the song people from Twelve sing. We will have vows, and rings since money isn't an issue for anyone anymore. We will exchange the rings later though, in supposed privacy at the toasting prior to a "small" reception.

The snaps of the camera are louder, more obnoxious now as I step out of the tent. Plutarch said it would be a crime not to let the country share in this moment. Paylor managed to convince him to not air it on television, but he only relented when she promised that Gale and I would not be responsible for the entire guest list.

My chin goes up, brushing against the intricate lace of my veil. I hope they mistake the redness in my cheeks on the chill, not the discomfort. I don't mind cameras so much, but this is supposed to be my own moment, not theirs. The corner rounds and Katniss and Melaina are ahead of me now. So are two sets of twelve rows of guests. How did Paylor manage to find this many people to invite?

There's the collective sound of awe when I appear; then the sound of chairs scraping against the boardwalk, leaves that have fallen onto the wood crunching under feet as everyone rises. On the end of each row are large ebony vases, holding curly willow, deep russet roses and white orchids; identical to my smaller bouquet.

It's then that I finally spot Gale; I've passed three rows of seats. My heart beings hammering like a drum, a sound drowning out everything else. He waits calmly in front of the gazebo steps, Archer standing on his right. The light silk of Katniss and Melaina's dresses veer to my right slightly so there is a space for me beside Gale. My eyes float back to Archer, his sandy blonde hair its usual mess and his dark green eyes oddly excited. It's always been a wonder to me, how much his friendship with Gale has blossomed when they loathed each other six months ago. For someone who was oblivious to their public hatred, it would be impossible to know that it was once that way.

His wedding attire is completely untraditional, no matter what district anyone is from. Clad in a forest green silk looking dress shirt and a loose black tie, he manages to look classy, casual and dressy simultaneously. Beautiful olive skin, shimmering grey eyes, a rare grin that lights up his entire face; this is Gale, this is all for me. When I asked Archer what Gale was wearing, he refused to tell me. I stifle a laugh at Gale's carelessness because it suits him perfectly, and it's ridiculous to believe he would've worn anything else. I'm suddenly glad I'm the only one who gets to see him in this way. If we weren't getting married I'm sure someone would be attempting to snatch him from me.

It's a long haul up the aisle, the boardwalk leading to the gazebo, which is large and rectangular, with an entrance wider than our kitchen. When I reach the few stairs where the officiant, Gale, Archer, Melaina and Katniss wait, I pass my flowers off to Posy who sits in anticipation in the front row.

Gale extends his hand to me as we collectively turn to face the gazebo stairs. It's warm and steady as we ascend the four steps. Our procession follows closely behind, the media having a hay-day with their cameras, muffling the sounds of the string instruments nearby. I cock my head up to Gale, who's grinning down at me madly. Everything save for his voice fades away as his grip tightens on my hand. "You're so beautiful."

I duck my head down. Gale's the only person who has the ability to make me blush. "You don't look overly horrible," I tease, nodding to his outfit.

Paylor hired the officiant, Bennett Dearn. He's old and wizened, with wild grey eyebrows shooting in every possible. An expression on his face tells me he's waiting for us to stop talking. I nod with a smirk.

"Welcome, everyone, guests of Johanna and Gale," he opens his arms in jubilant welcome, smiling warmly at the crowd. "We are assembled here on this erm- _beautiful_ afternoon to witness the unity of this man and this women in matrimony. You may be seated."

The congregation sits quickly. I'm staring at Gale, completely immersed in the planes of his face. His perfect jaw line. The telltale signs of a broken nose. Some prominent scars on his cheeks, on his neck. Some faint ones on his forehead and chin. I get it all. All the imperfect perfection. He's mine and I'm his. His lips are softly parted, so tempting and full that I nearly lean to press my own against them.

Dearn asks us to turn and face him. It's painful, but there are no cameras to look at and I decide I don't mind the view so much. The old man goes on for nearly ten minutes about Two's abnormal autumn weather, cracking a few pitiful jokes. Then somehow he ties weather into marriage and how important it is to join together after so much adversity.

Plutarch must have written this because five minutes later we're listening to mini biographies on ourselves. Anybody Gale and I would have invited would know everything about us already; this just shows how many people here are good as strangers. Fifteen more minutes elapse and I'm exhausted from standing. Surprisingly, I feel worse for the guests than I do myself.

There are delicate footfalls on the steps behind us. Posy arrives at my side, a crown made of laurel leaves in her hands. Vick stands on Gales left, with a laurel bracelet. In Seven, the bride and groom would wear these during their vows, but they were made of soft evergreen needles. Melaina suggested the laurel leave, it's a tradition here to shower the married couple in them. I can't even begin to fathom where they could possibly grow laurel trees in this district.

"Before we truly begin, the bride and groom will receive a laurel crown and bracelet," Dearn announces, then proceeding to explain the tradition.

I reach beside Gale, and grab the leafy band that lays on a mahogany tray. Gale lets my other hand free and takes the scalloped edge of my lacy veil between his fingers. It's pulled gently backwards, resting across the back of my head so two layers of the lace fall over my hair. His body is close to mine, and I see his lips twitch slightly as he moves past me to Posy. He wants to kiss me. I want to kiss him.

"Hi, Gale," Posy whispers. I laugh to myself. Posy had promised that she knew she wasn't supposed to talk. "You look nice."

Gale's eyes crinkle with a joy that he gets only around his family. "Hi, Posy," he ruffles her hair lightly. The conversation is loud enough for everyone in the gazebo to hear. "So do you."

He grasps the laurel crown with care. His entrancing eyes fasten onto mine, the crown held at his side.

"Do you, Gale Hawthorne, promise to share in Johanna Mason's dreams, and support her as she reaches to achieve her goals?"

"I promise," Gale, vows in a low voice.

"Do you vow to act with compassion and understanding, and speak to her with encouragement, to help when it is needed? Do you vow to remain faithful, for better or worse, in times of sickness and health, and to so all of this as long as you both shall live?"

Gale exhales steadily. "I do," he says gently. Light as a feather, he hands rise up and place the circlet on my head so that the leaves brush against my forehead. His fingers linger for a moment on my temples, but then fall and grab my free hand.

Dearn turns to me. "Do you, Johanna Mason, promise to encourage and inspire this man, promise to comfort him in times of sorrow and struggle, to love him when life seems easy and when it seems hard, when your love is simple and when it is an effort?"

"I promise," the words come out of me though I can't place the voice as my own.

"Do you vow to cherish him, and to always hold him in the highest regard for the rest of your life?"

I nod, my eyes bleary. Am I seriously crying? I have to sniffle before responding. "I do," I say shakily. Taking his left wrist, I slide the bracelet so that it lies between his wrist bone and slightly rolled up sleeve.

Dearn raises his arms to the crowd in acknowledgement. "Do you, witnesses of this sacred bond, promise to offer your hearts and guidance to this couple throughout their lives? If so, then respond with 'I will'."

I'm terrified for a second that nobody will say it. But they do.

The man lowers his rebellious eyebrows back to us. "Gale Hawthorne, you may kiss your bride."

Gale complies readily, reaching for my face and drawing me inwards though I'm not in need of any coaxing. My arms throw themselves around his neck, while his snake around my waist. There's a new spark that ignites furiously deep inside of my chest. My lips move against his with soft urgency, and despite the crowd observing, Gale presses his entire body into mine; his hard warm chest, his strong hips. The strong arms tighten and my fingers crawl into his hair, roaming like an army of ants. His teeth are on my lips biting softly, his hand sliding down my hips.

Archer clears his throat. Gale moans into me, but stops and slides his teeth back to himself, leaving my lips swollen. That was anything but chaste. Everyone has noticed, and laughs at our expense. My breathing is heavy with lust.

"I now pronounce you husband and wife," Dearn announces, as though proud he managed to slip the words in; pleased with himself to have finally married us. The assembly rises and cheers.

Though Gale and I are meant to turn to them now, and we've more than sealed our vows with a kiss, we step back together, his head craning down to me.

"I love you," he whispers in a voice dripping with desire.

I tuck my head under his chin as he moves in for a kiss. I press my lips to his exposed collarbone tenderly. "Why are you wearing this?" My fingers pinch the soft fabric of his shirt.

"Is something wrong with it?"

"Only that you're in it," I whisper, attempting to keep my voice even.

The veil shifts by my right ear. Gale's warm breath floods through the lace."I'd tear this dress apart if it didn't look so beautiful and wasn't so expensive."

"I don't care how much anything cost. Tonight. Gale, we finally have an excuse to have sex."

He laughs heartily and pulls back. Eyebrows raised he says, "no more surprises?"

I stare at him for a moment, confused. "No. Yes. You don't make sense. But people should be expecting that were having sex everywhere now. It's not our fault if they can't handle a surprise or two. We're married."

_We're married_.

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><p>I love parties. Don't get me wrong, I really do. The only time I hate them is when they're meant for me. This has occurred only twice; once when I won my games, and now, to celebrate my marriage.<p>

The thing is, when you are at someone else's party you go and talk to them for a bit, make your presence known, and then slip away and go have fun for the rest of the event. When the party is for you, you are the one everyone comes talk to for that quick moment, but there are so many people you don't have a chance to enjoy yourself. You don't get a chance to do anything except for fret over how you're not partying.

I notice a lot of things when I'm not dancing, or drinking, or that odd second when I'm not being congratulated. Like how half of the new government seems to be here, and how they _do _have personalities when they finally let their socks down. Or how Katniss and Peeta seem to hold each other closer than they ever have before, as though their scared that something's going to claw its way between them again. Which it might? Who's to say...?

It's impossible not to notice the amount people in the square, or how everyone who owns a shop has opened their doors to people who find the outdoors too chilly. Those who make food are generously giving it out to all the people that are craving specific things, though it must be nearing midnight.

Paylor is standing on the marble steps of the Justice Building at one point, two screens on her flanks showing larger live images of her. I'm overcome with curiosity and my hand finds its way to Gale's arm. He's speaking to some employee, an ISA agent who is under the command of him and Archer, and despite their hushed tones, I interrupt rudely. "Why is Paylor up there?"

Gale turns, his irritation slightly visible, but his voice calm. "I'm not sure." He's about to turn back to the man who seems extremely unimpressed with my behaviour, but Paylor's voice is suddenly ringing out of invisible speakers around the square.

"Can I have everyone's attention?"

Normally, I would ignore her, but everyone else has shut his or her mouth and I decide I should follow suit.

"I would just like to speak on behalf of myself, the government and I'm sure the entirety of Panem," she pauses and allows the people on the outskirts of the square to quiet down as well. In the moonlight, and the artificial light gleaming down from the lights around the Justice Building, I catch a few more flecks of silver and grey in her hair than I remember. "I'm not up here to outdo anyone. In District Eight, we always give small gifts to the bride and groom and I am aware that that is not customary in Seven or Twelve. These two people, Johanna and Gale, have done so much to bring our country to where it is today. It is impossible to express any sort of thanks to people like them; people who have endured more pain and suffering than anyone else, but I believe this is an ideal opportunity to make an attempt at thanking them.

"Those who live here are aware that there are housing shortages due to the new ISA headquarters opening. The houses that do exist are mostly small and not dissimilar to cabins. So, with that, Gale and Johanna, I would like to announce that you have been upgraded. We're giving you a new house with two bathrooms, and two storeys rather than one of each; to a kitchen that fits more than one person and to a third bedroom. This is only a fractional amount of the thanks you each deserve, and one of the ways we can express our excessive gratitude for all that you have done."

People are nodding and applauding a moment later, but I can't put a meaning behind it. All that registers is how kind and genuine Paylor seemed for once, and that it couldn't have possibly been directed towards Gale and I.

She bought a what?

A house?

The cost must be enormous...

There is no way she bought us a house. Who does that anyways?

Maybe she bought us a mouse?

She wasn't talking about mousing shortages in the town...

What else sounds like house?

Faces turn to me, all searching for a reaction. I want to act gracious, but I don't think I've ever been gracious. The emotion is entirely foreign and I can't manage to move a muscle in my body in response.

"Gale?" My voice is coming out in a shaky, childish whisper. "Is she serious?"

He stares at her for a moment longer, as dumbfounded as I am, but then his lips curve and he's grinning at me like a madman. "Yes. I've already picked it out."

"You..." his statement makes no sense. "You picked it out? You were behind it? I don't have a say?"

"You're doubting me? Ouch," he rests his hands on my shoulder and captures my eyes. "Nothing is set in stone."

"I am doubting you. You have horrible judgement," I counter. This is _not_ okay. He can't just make these decisions on his own without me. I should be happy, and thankful probably. The expressions around us all show slight distaste at my lack of excitement, but I could care less.

Gale's dark eyebrows furrow. "I thought you would be happy," he whispers, hurt. "Johanna, she offered. Well, she more or less forced it on me."

Part of me _is_ happy. We get a legitimate house. No little cabin anymore. But, Gale's offended. At our wedding. I'll be happier; I have to; for his sake. "I am. I just... I can't believe this is how it's happening. I thought..."

People are getting uncomfortable, there's hushing near and far as everyone observes my deteriorating composure. My hands are getting clammy like they always do when I need to unleash everything inside of me. I'm not mad like Peeta. I just have a greater capability to lock up my emotions than I did before, but sometimes, I'm easily set off. This is one of those times.

And it would happen today of all days.

My newly made husband notices. The impatience in Gale's eyes vanishes and he bites his lips. Not even he can calm me down when I get going. "Jo, maybe you should go sit…"

The guests begin a slow constant chatter again, Paylor still standing lamely on the steps of the Justice Building. Whenever something less than ideal happens, she's involved. As a new president under incredible amounts of stress, she's not a horrible person. I'm sure if she had fewer things on her to-do list that she would be bearable, at least. But when there's a problem, she seems to be at the center of it.

I leave then, because I remember that we still haven't done the toasting and I won't allow myself to lose it entirely before then. Gale's fingers trail down the length of my lace sleeves as I turn hastily. I want to grab his hand and drag him along, but I know I shouldn't and that instead I should "remove myself from the situation" as my head doctor likes to say.

Where do I go? I push a hand to my mouth to keep from saying anything I'd regret. Normally, I wouldn't give a shit. Let innocent people deal with my wrath. But not tonight, tonight is the only night I've ever wanted to be perfect. I can't destroy it completely.

A wind or something just as invisible and powerful guides me through the crowd, then to the butcher shop. Nobody is working but the door is unlocked and I go past the dead animal carcasses in the back room to where another door leads me to an alley. I pass houses, shops, and other buildings. Then I'm wandering into the forest. No part of my being understands why I'm in here.

The trees are thin here, scarce for now, much thicker about twenty paces ahead. That's my mind set now, analysing everything around me. I can't think of a time when I didn't do this, when I wasn't wary of the smallest detail of my surrounding. It proved useful when in the arena, and training in Thirteen, but now it drives me crazy. Maybe I'm paranoid? I don't think so. I don't feel scared. I just feel… _wrong_.

I find a tree with a trunk sturdier than the rest, wide enough so that I can lean against it. The lace of the dress catches along the rough bark, but somehow it's satisfying to destroy such a perfect thing. Why did I believe everything could be okay now? Just because Snow is gone doesn't mean I deserve Gale, or this peace, or people _giving me houses_ for goodness sake. Before we won the war I thought I deserved every single bit of happiness I could get my greedy hands on.

"Why," I whisper into the empty space around me. It's much colder here than it was in the square; my exposed back is prickling with the chill, my breath shaping into visible clouds of vapour. "Why am I like this?"

No head doctor is every going to get me sorted out. I have no idea what I'm mourning over right now. Am I upset that I have it so good? Or am I upset that I never had it good before, when I wanted it most?

Fuck.

I'm so confused.

"Gale told me to come after you."

I open my eyes, though I never realized they had been closed. It's Melaina, appearing like a beacon in this dank forest. I'm honestly not sure how I'm seeing her; the moonlight is minimal below the canopy of trees.

"Was I right to?" She asks in a soft voice.

I look past her though I know he's not there. "Why didn't he come?"

Melaina shrugs gently. She knows I'm on the edge, and I'm about to be pushed over.

"He said we'd just do the toasting when you get back."

When she says it, in her soft little voice it makes it impossible to be mad at Gale for not coming after me. I don't respond because I don't want to go back. He would know that.

I've known Melaina for about four months in all. She hardly knows anything about who I am, and I can tell by her blank stony expression that she's trying her hardest to decode me.

"Listen," she says, taking tentative steps forwards. Her dress is dirty along the seams brushing along the mulch of the forest floor. "Gale and Archer are alike, I think. They don't realize it because they don't want to be alike, and you don't for the same reason. During our wedding I wanted to cry, and run away and never show my face again. Archer is so _overwhelming_, and I couldn't figure out what I was getting into. But I love him more than anyone. Gale is like him in that sense. You can't see it either because you're so strong willed like him.

"Right now you have no idea what you're doing, right?"

I nod. Where the hell is she going with this?

"It's worth it though. You're getting the whole running away idea later than me because I've always been so cautious about Archer. You and Gale just fit; you guys never second guess," Melaina is three steps away from me. I can't comprehend if she's telling me that she's scared of Archer or not. "I'll leave now, though. I'll tell them you're coming back soon. Jo. Just think about how lucky you are to have Gale. Then everything will start making sense. I promise."

I shake my head, sliding hopelessly down the ragged trunk. "No." the words are more to myself than to her. "Nothing's ever going to make sense."

Brain scan, I think wildly. I should get one. There's no way everything is right up there. How can I feel like this- how can I wake up every morning, terrified that I'm going to be raped over and over and over- and be okay? My head begins whirling with the vivid memories… kisses… touches… wrong ones… not Gale's…

"You're going to ruin your dress," says Gale.

My hands fly upwards in defeat. "It's ruined already," I say miserably. _Wait. Gale_.

"You can go back, Melaina," he says slowly. "Archer's taken over the party. Drunk already. Better go snatch him before someone else does."

Hearts do funny things when you're excited, I've decided. Mine is racing again, attempting to leap out as Gale appears beside Melaina. My entire attention is aimed steadily at him, and I barely realize Melaina vanish moments later.

_Think about how lucky you are to have him…_

"Johanna," Gale says. Somehow his unwavering gaze causes me to straighten out against the tree. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry for rushing this, for letting Paylor take control, for everything."

The words echo in my ears, falling short of any meaning. Why is he apologizing? I'm the on whose acting up. He's about to go on, his hand is mussing up his hair again; stress. I close the distance between us in a short stride and gently press my finger to his warm lips.

"Don't. It's me, Gale. I just feel like something bad is supposed to happen now that we're happy. Like it can't last for more than a few minutes. But I'm just being ridiculous. My brain's all over the place today." My free hand waves impatiently before me, swiping Gale. He laughs. I want to explain everything to him, how it's getting so impossible to keep up the image that everyone sees as Johanna Mason. Since I was seventeen, I've been portrayed as a ferocious, unfazed, murderous girl. Part of that _is_ me; my blood boils, I'm short tempered, I don't go down without a fight. I'm tougher than a diamond, but now I'm breaking apart easier than chalk. Remaining sane and undamaged to the public eye is so much more difficult that it seems. None of this forms properly in my mouth, and no words come out.

"Out of your comfort zone?" Gale inquires cheekily, a hand roaming up my arm, to my shoulder, then my neck. At least he's caught on that I don't want him to take this too seriously.

"Nothing's out of my comfort zone," I remind him. Our noses are touching as I inch nearer and the tips of our toes meet. I don't know if he's going to kiss me or not, but being this close is bliss and my eyes fall shut.

"Then you'll go back?"

My answer is a sweet chaste kiss on his lips. "Yes," I breathe. He wants more, but I won't let him.

_Think about how lucky you are to have him…_

When I lost my virginity, I thought I would marry that man. I was seventeen. And stupider than I think I ever was. Obviously I didn't marry him, and now I see that I could never have married anyone other than Gale. Was it some sick trick of fate that I never met Gale before my life turned into a living nightmare? Was he some sort of reward for living through it all? What if I had died, never having met him? I couldn't have realized what I was missing, and somehow that's more tragic than anything. We both would have died not knowing what could have been; what should have been.

_Gale. _My whole body is whispering to him, I wish he could hear, but we're kissing suddenly and I can't speak. _Gale. I'm so glad I didn't die before I met you._

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><p><strong>"I'm so glad I didn't die before I met you" is a line from the song First Day of My Life by Bright Eyes.<strong>

**Please review (:**


	3. Winter Three: Part One

**So, quicker update this time. Like, two days between chapters. This one was going to be the first chapter, so I already had most of it written. It's a little bit dark.**

**All rights go to Suzanne Collins, blah blah, only a few characters and the plot are mine.**

**Enjoy!**

**Because I love mysterious men. **

**Because I love Archer.**

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><p>It's early morning when I awake, needing desperately to use the bathroom. Glancing at the clock near the bed out of curiosity, I see that its three o'clock- on the dot. I can usually manage getting to the bathroom without waking Gale, but the bed is cold and empty where he sleeps, the sheets thrown back carelessly. Considering where he could be, I sit back against the pillows fearing ultimately his death. It's ridiculous, I know, but for some reason it's all that comes to mind. I can't shake the idea from my head though I vividly recall falling asleep in his arms last night.<p>

My feet hit the cold wood floor, and I consider jumping back into bed and getting warm in the blankets again. The pressure against my bladder mounts and I have no choice but to rush to the toilet. It's a relief when it's all out- I always have to pee even though I haven't drunk anything. At least it's much better than morning sickness, which never failed to visit me early in the pregnancy.

Gale and I agreed it was right to get married about six months following the anniversary of our victory, so that's about three years now. Neither of us wanted children right away. The thought of being pregnant again after what happened in the Capitol was enough to send me over the edge.

After my wedding, some genius finally realized that I needed more help than I had been receiving, and the head doctor I got actually did just that. He helped to me to get past the entire trauma more successfully than other doctors, and after about a year of treatment I could fathom the idea of children.

I had never anticipated how much work it is, even though the baby hasn't been born yet. More often than not I highly doubt that it'll all be worth it in the end. Then I think of three and a half year old Porter, and the odd stability he's provided for Annie. Having a kid can't be too bad.

Hopping back into bed, my wonder for Gale's whereabouts eats at me. A shiver shoots down my spine and I grab an itchy wool blanket, wrapping it around my bloated body. Winters in Two are so much more frigid than I've experienced anywhere else. Our newer house still represents a log cabin, and I ask myself if the builders had the thought to put insulation in it. The place is rather small (but not as small as the old place), three bedrooms, two bathrooms, Gale's office and a kitchen-living room. The upper floor is our bedroom and bathroom that over looks the small living room like a balcony. Okay, it's not exactly practical for pregnant women, or if you have children in the lower bedrooms, but it's home.

I creep soundlessly down the stairs, which land in the living room that is cold with the seemingly eternal chill of winter. At the bottom waits our dog, Kuma, who stares at me with his gigantic blue eyes, the white and silver coat that covers his body shimmers in the moonlight, his is face smashed and resting on his front paws. I hold my fingers up to my lips, feeling ridiculous. The door to Gale's office down the short hallway is shut tightly, but a ray of light escapes between the door and the floor. Is he seriously working? At three in the morning?

There are multiple voices from beyond the doors, and my feet slide closer to the door so that I can listen. Shadows dart across the light- someone else is in there.

"I can't believe that we're bringing Melaina into this," comes Archer's tired voice.

Melaina is Archer's wife. Beautiful, with long wavy blonde hair, striking blue eyes and perfect alabaster skin. One of the kindest people I have ever met, but then again I don't know very many people who are selfless like her. And she's young. Twenty-three, I think. Nobody understands how such an innocent golden-hearted girl ended up with the notoriously malicious Archer Karis. But what the hell is Archer doing here?

Gale replies in a warbled tone followed by Archer, but I can't hear any of it. They've been working non-stop recently in the ISA building and at home. Archer lives on the opposite side of town, but considering how small where we live is, it takes about twenty minutes to walk there. Gale and him have been utilizing the proximity since they've begun working together. Melaina and I watch from afar, never informed of what's going on, as everything happens to be confidential. Now it seems that I'm to be the only one left ignorant.

When the ISA was formed, all that anyone cared to explain was that it took the place of the strategic military sector. We don't have a normal military, and supposedly the ISA "focuses on strategic operations rather than violent solutions to issues". Gale is the head of it all, and he has doctors, engineers, economists, historians, and geologists working with him; practically people from every profession imaginable. There's about a hundred others I never cared to remember too. All of them work together forming different missions planned by Gale and carried through by Archer.

Gale never goes on missions. It must be some sort of law or something. Paylor always stressed how risky the job was, but so far it seems as though she's over exaggerating. No one has ever died before. Agents have come back with injuries from whatever it is that they handle, but nothing too severe. Archer goes on too many missions to count, and the worst I recall him coming back with was a dislocated shoulder; from body checking a door. It all has to be leading up to something though. The President wouldn't abolish the entire defence sector to bring in some organization that doesn't seem to do very much.

I'm pretty damn good at snooping usually (that's the only reason I know Archer goes on so many missions), but with my heavy tread and ballooning body it's not so simple anymore. Both of their voices stop as I begin to wonder if pregnancy has afflicted my hearing as well. They know that I'm listening.

As quickly as possible, I rush into the kitchen and fill a glass with some water, sitting down at the counter. I don't know why I'm so terrified of being caught in the act, but if Gale needs to do this while I'm sleeping, it's obvious he doesn't want me to know.

The heavy door swings open and Archer strides casually into the kitchen, Gale following a moment later. Kuma, who is a Siberian Husky (what ever Siberian means) and not exactly small, stands up on and follows Gale silently. Archer grins madly at me, his jagged scar curving menacingly. I observe his pleasure coolly from behind the rim of my glass. It's hard not to notice the frustrated grimace on Gale's face.

"I like your blanket," Archer teases, nodding at the tacky wool blanket draped around my shoulders.

"Too bad you don't have one," I say, looking out of the huge window beside the front door. The night sky is pink with the blizzard that roars outside. "It looks a little bit cold."

Gale closes his eyes and shakes his head, tossing Archer a jacket that had been thrown on the couch. "As much as we want him to, Archer's not going to freeze to death tonight."

Archer winces playfully, and I take a timid sip of water. Gale glares at me and I raise my eyebrows defensively.

"Harsh," Archer says, "but what else do I expect from the Hawthornes?" He pulls his jacket on and Gale opens the door, ushering him out.

"Go home," Gale laughs stiffly. Archer pops his jacket collar around his neck and smirks before the animalistic storm swallows him up.

"He probably will die of cold," I observe once Gale closes the door with finality. Now he's staring at me expectantly.

"What did you hear, Jo?" He asks restlessly.

I roll the glass between my hands; it grates against the wooden counter top. "Nothing. Well nothing important. Only that I'm the only one who hasn't any clue what's going on," I explain, hoping Gale senses the challenge in my words.

He doesn't. Sometimes he's so thick I wonder why I ever married him. I _clearly_ want an explanation right now. "It's better that you don't know anything. I didn't want to get Melaina involved, believe me."

"Then why did you?

Gale pulls up and stool and sits down beside me. "Because it was the only way we could progress. She's not stupid, she's not falling into anything she can't handle," he says thoughtfully with his hand on his chin. I know he didn't mean to offend me, but suddenly I'm furious.

"So then I'm stupid, am I?" I spit, clutching the glass of water.

"No!" Gale says quickly. "Johanna, you are one of the smartest people I know. It's not like that at all."

"Then what is it like, Gale? Please, do explain."

"You know why Archer is always away and I'm not?" Gale asks, finally sensing an explanation would satisfy me. He takes a sip of my water, and I eventually push it to him because I didn't really want it to begin with. I shake my head.

"It's because I'm not trusted to go on missions. I'm just as clever and quick as Archer, but he's not rash like I am. He won't get himself knee deep into a situation unless it's completely necessary. Paylor won't let me go, and Archer doesn't want me to. I don't trust myself to do anything either. Archer holds my vote for leading as well as everyone else's."

I realize as he says it, that it's true. Archer has never jumped into something he can't figure out the result of. Gale is impulsive, which can be good, but in certain times I can understand what the problem would be. "But why is Melaina involved? She's never so much as hurt a fly." Somehow, it still bothers me that people won't trust Gale.

"Exactly for that reason. You and I have both killed people, Johanna. Melaina would never think of doing something unreasonable. If you were to know about what's going on, there's no telling how you would react. It's too dangerous for everyone," Gale explains slowly. The hand from his chin slides onto my stomach and settles there softly.

"And I trust Archer with my life. But no matter how much I try, I wouldn't trust him with yours. Or the baby's; even if he does have his own child."

Objecting to him trusting Archer with his life won't get me anywhere and so we sit in silence for a moment. Then the time of day strikes me. "Why were you meeting now? Why not later at work?"

Gale downs the rest of the water and I can sense the ending of the conversation. "He's telling her about it this morning. He just didn't know how to do it."

I nod, resting my head on his shoulder. Somehow, every part of his body is constantly warm, and solid. I want to bury myself in it.

"Have you gone to the bathroom yet?" He asks, checking the time.

I laugh. "Yes, that's how I noticed you weren't where you were supposed to be."

"Well," he says, kissing my head, all remnants of anger disappearing, "let's get me back there."

* * *

><p>The frosty morning is seeping through the windows and walls as I awake again. It's snowing… still. The house is empty except for the dog and me; who sounds like he's pacing uncontrollably downstairs.<p>

Gale left at six because Archer called.

It's like my husband is married to the clever bastard instead of me. It's so…

Whatever.

Sometimes I wish I were back in Seven; everything was set out for me at an early age. Cut down trees. Get married. Cut down more trees. Make some babies. Clear a forest. Maybe make a few more babies. Now though, I'm just a housewife in this forsaken tundra with nothing to do.

Since I am such a unique specimen- what with my past morphling addiction/withdrawal and pregnancy- I'm tested once everyone one or two weeks to see how the baby is progressing. That takes up a few hours on those certain days, and I only let them poke and prod me with needles so that I don't go insane shut up inside everyday. I've tried more than once to get a job at the ISA, but they have a strict no-Johanna-policy.

As a result, I explore. It's becoming gradually more difficult as the baby has grown, but I manage. This place is so tiny; it's one of those places where everyone knows everyone. It took time for most people to adjust to having me around, but they extended more welcome to me than everyone ever has in my life.

Melaina's family owns the jewellers- this town has never had an issue with poverty- and I can't really remember why, but I was going to see her today. I suppose I could always work in a shop in town if I wanted to, but the idea of staying in one place for such a prolonged period of time is nearly as bad a prospect as put back into the arena.

I'm grabbing my coat from its place near the door when the phone begins ringing. I pause. The chime is persistent and doesn't stop after five rounds. It rings when Gale's home, because it's always somebody from the office looking for him. Maybe it's Gale himself.

I cross the room in a surprisingly quick stride and clasp the phone in my hand.

"What do you want?"

"Still feisty then…"

I should've waited before saying anything. This isn't Gale. I don't know who this is. "Who…?"

A sinister chuckle comes out of the receiver. "I'm surprised you don't know. Well, this is _Johanna Mason_, correct?"

So, this call _is_ for me. Kuma saunters over, sensing tension.

"Hawthorne," I correct the mystery man. "I'm married now."

There's a bark of harsh laughter and then a cough. "Never thought you'd have it in you to settle down."

"Who are you? What do you want?" My hands begin shaking.

There's a pause, a sigh. Then some crackles where I suppose the man must be moving around.

"I'll cut to the chase, just because I like you. Fifteen seconds after I disconnect, you will find an envelope tucked into your front window frame, the one by the rack your coat was just hanging on. Open and read it. I highly suggest you do not discard this note. I also suggest you do not waste your time looking for a deliveryman, because there isn't one." The man's tone has dropped. I inhale slowly to steady my breathing; I can't let him hear that he's terrified me.

"Who are you?" I question again. My mouth is nearly on the receiver. I'm whispering out of sheer dread.

"That isn't important. What is important is that you do not discuss this with anyone else. I have men with access to Mr. Hawthorne and Mr. Karis. Everyone is going to know if you delve our little secrets to anyone, and… Do you want me to tell you what will happen? Or maybe you can just use some past experiences as an idea."

Somehow I know he's not lying, though it's difficult to believe anyone could infiltrate the ISA. Each person that steps into that building has had diligent backgrounds checks done on him or her, and it screened the second their foot touches the marble floor. Each employee is so picked over it's nearly tedious to hire somebody new.

"I forgot how muddled your brain must be after your episode in the Capitol. Let me spell it out for you. If one word about this conversation reaches someone else's ear, you should be aware that I have snipers hidden on the roofs across from Gale's office. Twenty bullets will be imbedded in his body before you can get a sentence out. If anyone else finds out, I can have Gale brought to me. My building has a number of live wires lying around, and a pool or two of water. He can join any little friends you decide to share this with."

My lips, my teeth, my arms, my legs; everything is trembling. The man's voice warbles in my ear, I grip the counter with my free hand, but my palms are clammy and slip off. This can't be happening. Everything was supposed to be okay.

"Think about it."

I clamp my eyes shut. Is everyone I love fated to be killed?'

The baby starts kicking. It's kicking like it only does for Gale, when he talks to it and he thinks I'm asleep. Oh my-

"Fuck you," I cry in a quavering voice.

"Fine then. I see you are preoccupied," the man says. "I wish you the best of luck with your baby."

The other end cuts off and I'm listening to dead air. How can he know about the baby? How…?

Kuma is beside me now, his wet nose rubbing against the baby bump. He flinches back slightly as the baby kicks again. Then his ears are perking, and his tail is pointing upwards. His paws slide on the tile, as he turns alert, towards the window. All that can be seen is the piling snow; we both stare, expecting something disastrous. I blink tears away, and in that moment an envelope appears.

As though urging me onwards, the baby flails more furiously. My hand goes tentatively to the mound. "Stop it," I hush in vain. Kuma prances to the door, clearly believing I should enter the blistering cold to get the envelope.

My fingers fold nervously around the door handle as a knock sounds from the opposite side. Kuma begins barking madly reminding me of a wolf, while I stumble backwards. Instinct tells me to look for a weapon; logic tells me than an intruder wouldn't knock and that I should open the door. For the first time in a while, I go with logic. Regret drowns me as I do.

Archer stands before me, with his hair plastered to his forehead from the snow. He is the _last _person I want to talk to, the last person about to make me feel any safer after that phone call. I push the door back shut, but his foot stops it a few inches before it can close completely.

"It's fucking cold out, Johanna," he says in a light voice. I want to suspect him of dropping off the letter, but I can't believe it. And I don't want to bring it up with him… "There's an envelope in your window."

His expression turns from irritation to bemusement, his dark eyes wandering around looking for another way into the house. Reluctantly, I pull the door back and allow him to enter.

"It's just from a friend," I lie.

Archer's mischievous eyes narrow and he grins. "My wife is your only friend, Johanna. And she doesn't put envelopes in window sills."

"Could you just grab it for me?"

He steps outside quickly and snatches the paper, giving the soggy product to me without any expression. At least he's not prying. Most of the time it bothers me to no end how comfortable Archer is in our house; he slides back inside and throws his jacket onto its usual spot on the couch. Right now though, just having someone else in the house with me is soothing.

"You okay?" He asks, genuine concern playing on his relaxed face. The scar though, it always is threatening, and remains so now. Somehow, there's an orange in his hand and he's peeling it on the kitchen island. I throw the envelope onto a stack of Gale's papers when Archer's not looking, praying that he forgets about it. "You're really pale. Even by your standards."

I sigh. I've never liked Archer. Putting up with him is a different story, but I can't come to have positive attitude towards him. From the start he was always a cocky little shit, arrogant and nosy. Gale got used to him because he was smart, more tactically brilliant and creative than anyone else. Once you get the kid serious though, it makes him more bearable. Like right now, for example. It's easy to forget that he is married with a baby boy most of the time. It's moments like this, when he shows some sort of care, which helps me to understand why anyone would bother to have him around.

Even with this though, he's not someone I want to pour my feelings out to. "It's just the baby," I say quietly, placing a hand on the now calm bump for emphasis.

His dirty blonde eyebrows shoot up. "Cold feet? Who would have thought a simple child would terrify the great Mrs. Hawthorne." Silently, I thank him for getting the name right, but I can tell he knows I'm lying again.

"I'm not exactly motherly material," I admit, deciding to go with the cold feet idea. Some of the ways I've killed people… well they weren't exactly humane. My back begins tightening and aching, and I want to sit, but I don't want to sit beside Archer.

Throwing his hands up in the air, Archer shakes his head. "Well, I'm not really fatherly material, am I? I haven't managed to screw up my kid yet, have I?" He blinks and then holds out a hand, telling me to stop before I speak. "Rhetorical questions, Jo. But, I am _not_ here to have a heart to heart with you. That's what Melaina is for. This is about last night. I don't know what Gale decided to tell you, but whatever it was, I recommend you don't share it with anyone. It probably seems like he's being an asshole to you, but he has good reason to not disclose anything. I thought you should hear it from someone other than him. Clearly, I'm not your favourite person, but if there is anything you chose to listen to that I say, this would be it."

I assume he's finished, because he pops the last segment of orange into his mouth and chews while rising from the stool. Passing the stack of papers as he picks up his jacket he says, "that envelope is getting all of Gale's shit wet."

"Archer," I'm about to explain the entire phone call with him, because it's eating at me and I need to tell someone. Then there's Gale, with bullets pelleting his body, blood spraying in every direction. I can't risk it. I can't. Archer's dark emerald eyes are alert. I shake my head. "Never mind, sorry."

He smiles, opening the door. "Trust me on this, Johanna. If I could, I would keep Melaina out of this as long as possible. Nobody should even be caught up in this shit, but we are now, and you can't get out once you're in."

And then he's gone.

* * *

><p><em>Dear Mrs. Johanna Mason (or Hawthorne as you prefer),<em>

_You'd remember me if you saw me, but not if you saw my name. You probably considered me dead, and so do most other people. But this is not about me, and it is not about you._

_This is about your husband, and his little agency that's been built up in your town._

_I know what he is planning, and that entire mission that Mr. Karis plans on pulling off for him. My question is; why does Gale not execute such an imperative assignment? You don't know and neither do I. We want to face your husband more than Archer, and not because Mr. Karis is threatening. It's quite the opposite actually, Gale is quite the creature, and the wind has been whispering to us that Archer is the new brain in this country, but we still have faith in your husband. Does he not want to confront us because he is a coward? Is he scared of us? _

_Is it something else maybe? Scared to lose himself when he's worked so hard to get where he is. Maybe he's like you, civilized now, but when placed in front of danger, you both turn into murderous monsters. It's hard isn't it, putting on a show for everyone, pretending that you both are okay. You've tried to move on from the past, starting a family._

_I digress. Gale, better watch his step, or he will be the one that I have the pleasure of meeting face to face, rather than Archer. You can't warn him, because you know our little deal. What's the point of this letter then?_

_Well, it's like anything else than Panem has done over the ages. It's meant to instil fear into the hearts of the innocent. Do you feel threatened?_

_Perhaps your child will when it learns that nobody is ever safe in this world. So hug your baby bump close, keep Gale on track, and most importantly, keep your lips sealed._

_Sincerely,_

_Tobin Lennox_

* * *

><p>"Hi, baby."<p>

It's later, nearly midnight and I've been in bed since ten. I'm exhausted though I didn't do a thing today. The letter was burned. But the words are imprinted in my mind. Gale came to bed ten minutes ago, and is going through his usual nightly routine.

He's rolled up my shirt past the bump, and touches it with light fingertips. "Your mom would never stop making fun of me if she knew what I was doing." His warm hands go on either side of my stomach. "I've been waiting for you for a long time."

That's the cue. The baby is kicking now, Gale chuckles softly. Then his lips press softly to my skin, and he pulls away faster than he came. "You're not even born yet, and I'm terrified of being a father, but I love you so much." There's some sort of invisible string that attaches Gale and this child. I don't know if I'm supposed to feel some sort of paternal connection to it, or if he is. No part of me believes that I can talk to our unborn child and have it react like it does when Gale speaks.

Most of me wants this baby. The other part wants it to go away. What if I can't love it like Gale already does? What if I can't be there for it like it's father always would be?

Gale sneaks under the covers now, heating the space beside me. One hands remains on the baby, the other brushes my cheek lightly. "How did I never notice you?"

The Games. He means, how did he never notice what I would be to him when he watched my killing rampages be broadcast to the entire nation. I was just some furious bitch to him before. And in a month I'm going to have his child.

"I promised your mother I would never leave her," Gale is whispering, though his breath is drifting into my ear. "I can't keep that promise anymore. And she won't understand, than even when I'm dead, I've never really left. I'll always be with you both, even if you never get to meet me. I want you to know that. I want her to know."

This. This is what horrifies me beyond anything else.

Never mind a baby. Never mind that Lennox man's threats.

Gale dying; Gale being killed. Somehow, I've known since our wedding he would be taken away from me. And he's right. When someone I love dies, they're dead. I can't pretend they're surrounding me, guiding me through difficult times. If that was true, my brother would've come to me when I was in the arena, my mother's voice would have played in my head when I found out I was pregnant.

Even with our child, when Gale dies, he'll be gone, and no part of him will remain with me.

* * *

><p><strong>Because promises can't always be kept. <strong>


	4. Winter Three: Part Two

**I'm not even going to talk about the delay. (I had summer school, still have soccer and a surprisingly active social life. thumbs up right?)**

**Sorry to anyone whose comments I didn't reply to. I usually try to, but I lost track of which ones I did reply to. Please, DO review though. I write faster and better when I get feedback. Doesn't matter what kind of feedback, I'll take it.**

**Alright. So we've been reading everything from Johanna's POV. I can't write it. It's so difficult to capture her personality.**

**This is back to Gale's POV and gives s****ome insight into what's all going on.**

**ENJOY!**

* * *

><p>I'm struggling to find the words to finish off my last paragraph of a letter to my family when there's the faint rumble of the glass door to my office opening.<p>

Not looking up, I nod to Archer, because I know it's him. I have access to his office, and he has access to mine. And I saw him through the one-way glass a moment ago.

"Paxton filed his UCR this morning," Archer says, closing the door behind him. I hate that this building is glass. It makes me feel vulnerable; I prefer to be under the cover of trees or wood.

I jab at the paper with my pen, hoping some words explode from it, but nothing comes. "Didn't read it," I say offhandedly. It's one of our agent's undercover reports. Usually, I would make the effort to read it right away.

Archer walks forwards, his shoes squeaking slightly on the varnished wooden floor. "I know. It was on my desk this morning."

"Put it down. I'll read it later," I tell him. Archer doesn't move. "Have you read it?"

He doesn't reply. I peer up because this letter is a lost cause at this point. His mouth is set firmly as he swallows, his dark green eyes unblinking. "I did." Something is wrong.

"Is Paxton alright?" The paper in my hands crumples satisfyingly.

"Lennox wasn't there, Gale."

Lennox. Tobin Lennox. The man's name is a thorn in my side, a harsh shrieking that pounds in my head everyday. Paxton went undercover for three weeks. How was the leader of this group not there?

I stare at Archer in disbelief for a moment, waiting for his scar on his cheek to quirk upwards like it does when he jokes. But it doesn't. Scrambling out of my chair, I head toward the door. Then I remember Paxton is obligated to take a week off of work.

"Is Paxton at home?"

Archer shrugs and tosses my jacket from its place on the wall coat hanger. "Probably. We're going?"

I nod firmly and the door opens quickly as I step behind it. A voice rings out from the speaker on my desk, just before the door closes. "Paylor's in."

Right. I forgot tonight was the gala thing. Archer slips back into my office and presses a button on the wall. "Did Paxton come into work today?"

The voice belongs to Aysun, the secretary for our floor. She's too young to be as organized as she is. As usual, she doesn't miss a beat and replies quickly. "He's down in Ballistics, testing the new pistols Harver Pine authorized yesterday. Would you like Paylor to meet you down there?"

Archer nods, and then realizes she can't see him. "Yes. You're an angel, Sunny."

The speaker clicks off with Aysun's sigh of disapproval. Archer insists on making up stupid nicknames for everyone here. He turns to me with a laugh and his blonde eyebrows raised. I notice fine stubble lining his chin. It's likely from some late nights with his and Melaina's son, Leos, who is adamant on sleeping less than his father. "Pine brought in new ones?"

I smile slightly, remembering the new line of weapons I tried yesterday. Harver Pine is not so much an inventor as an organizer. We put ideas together in Design and he makes sense of all of our scribbles and puts them into working machinery or weaponry. I managed a shot accurately on target from almost five hundred yards away. No scopes; just a small little gun that could fit in my jacket pocket. "Better than the last line."

We weave our ways down hallways where people greet us awkwardly as we pass in a flurry. "I don't understand how Lennox wasn't there," I mention as the elevator door slides open and people jostle out. We're on the sixth floor, Offices, and need to get down to B9, which is a fancy way of saying the 9th floor below ground level. There are no buttons in the elevator, and it does not move as the doors slide back into place.

An eerie voice Archer calls Lucille overrides my voice turning our situation over and over in my head. "Identification."

Elevators take fingerprint ID because it's just awkward to pull up your eyelid so it can scan your retina in front of a people you may or may not know. Entering certain rooms requires the retina scanning as well a scanning of specific tattoos. Each agent has a small chip imbedded in our left forearms that projects the tattoos through our skin.

Archer places his thumb on the pad. "Welcome, Agent 493." A pause. "Next?"

I hate robotic things, and one that knows how many people are in an elevator weirds me out even more. My thumb goes to the pad and I push it down firmly. "Welcome, Agent 728. Level?"

"B9," Archer says quickly, grinning. It's a game between us, to see who can answer Lucille faster.

"Business?"

"Shooting range," I spit out as Archer says, "new pistols."

He must really be excited. Hopefully Paxton's has enough time with them. I have a lot of questions for him.

"Maybe the bastard knew who Paxton was," Archer offers as the elevator shoots downwards.

I shake my head. "No. Lennox would've had someone kill him. What was he doing if he wasn't there?"

Archer leans backwards against the metallic walls, hitting his head lightly against, attempting to figure this out. Maybe there's more than one old Peacekeeper outpost. Maybe, Lennox's posse has expanded, branched out to new places.

Archer's voice mirrors my thought a second layer. "There could be more of them."

I nod, my insides crawling at the thought. "How could we miss it?"

"We've only been at this for three years. Its impossible to map out the whole country that fast."

Three years. It seems like it was yesterday that I was in 8, questioning Paylor's decision to place all the wounded in such an enclosed space. I replay that so often, and I'm not sure why.

"You know the back country," I say suggestively. "Where do you think they'd set up another post?"

The elevator shifts sideways slightly. "Please exit," says Lucille.

We do just that and find ourselves in the grey dank hallway that leads to Ballistics. The lights flicker somewhat and it reeks of gun lubricant. At the far end of the grey strip of metal grate that is the floor is a heavy black metal door.

We hold out our wrists, which now have _Ballistics: 11:34_, tattooed to them. A purple light shoots out and slides up and down our wrists three times each. A loud cracking emits from the door as it splits apart, sounding like wood rather than metal. It's not actually breaking, it's just a hologram that you can only pass safely through if you've got the chip in your arm.

"Deeper in the mountains," Archer says once we've passed safely through.

It's much brighter in here because of the swamp lights on the floor that made of the spiny grates here too. When we reach the shooting range, I'm surprised to see Paylor wearing heels. Aysun's had her heel stuck in the grates on more than one occasion.

Paxton's letting off a round, laughing the whole while. His personality is no less fiery than his hair, and he tosses the gun to Pine whose chuckling faintly as well.

The shooting range is composed of five rooms that are purely for situational purposes and can be turned into nearly anything you want them to be. Only guns and explosives are dealt with here; there's a whole other level dedicated to less conventional weapons like arrows and spears.

Half of this level is for testing explosives and developing them. They managed to make completely indestructible walls _and_ suits for the developers. We are standing in the most simplistic range; mere soundproof strips that extend as far at 700 yards. You're only required to wear protective eye gear and head wear if you're shooting, and so when Paxton walks out, he tosses his glasses and ear covers to Paylor. The president pulls them on herself and takes the pistol from Pine, eyeing it curiously. I often forget that she was a rebel commander and can handle artillery with as much ease as anyone here.

"Hawthorne!" Paxton exclaims, his thickly bearded face swinging into a broad smile. The fieriness of his hair matches his personality with such exactness it almost terrifying. He's a District 13 native, born and raised as a soldier. For someone from such a meticulous place, he's awfully easygoing and light hearted.

He lopes towards us- limping slightly from something- grinning like Archer and I are the most wonderful people he's laid his eyes on.

I muster the most quizzical expression I can. "Did they ban you from shaving?"

Paxton's grin falls slightly but he chuckles. "They confiscate weapons and knives the minute you get there. That includes razors apparently."

Archer shakes his head at me, like I should've known what these people do.

"What?"

Ignoring me, he embraces Paxton warmly and smacks the man's shoulder. "Proud of you for going out there," Archer says with smile. It's well known to everyone that undercover missions are the most dangerous of anything we do.

"You have to do what you have to do," Paxton shrugs as they pull apart.

I'm not one for displays of affection, but I embrace Paxton next. "It's great to see you in one piece," I comment jokingly. It's daunting, sending agents out to play specific roles in these Peacekeeper villages that haven't died out. Archer doesn't stress as much as I do because he's been on them multiple times, but I never have. I would give anything to get out in the field again.

Since I've settled in here- well, as settled as I get- I've been itching to be in some form of legitimate combat. I hate planning. I hate sitting around and doing what feels like nothing. It's common knowledge why I don't go; no one trusts that I can handle myself. Paylor says I have some sort of disorder that prevents me from being in combat, that I'm more emotionally unstable than anyone in the ISA. I call it my "natural District 12 defiance". She calls it "post traumatic stress disorder". I don't doubt that I am volatile though; it's impossible to focus half the time, I can't follow directions and I lose my temper more frequently than the average person.

And I have a pregnant wife to worry about who's equally unstable as I am.

Paylor walks over now, Pine heading towards the room where the actual guns are held. "I came here to see the setup for tonight, but Aysun told me to come down here," Paylor says, agitated. "Whatever it is you want, we're moving it to Tactics because my shoes are going to get caught."

She must be at least thirty-five now, but Paylor's somehow managed to keep that petite physique most teenage girls have. She's muscular; her shoes have sculpted her calf muscles very well these past years. I guess she was muscular before, but she doesn't take part in daily training like the rest of us here.

We walk to the elevator again, Paylor wearing a displeased face as she avoids getting her heels caught. Lucille takes us to Tactics, which is on B3, and the moment we step off of the elevator Paylor pulls me aside as Paxton and Archer proceed.

"There's something wrong," Paylor says to me. This floor is much busier than any of the others, and there's a never-ending wave of passing people so she lowers her voice. "Not with the mission, but with you."

I pull a face. I've known there was something wrong with me for a long time.

"Not like that," she explains quickly. "How are you? Are you dealing with everything alright?"

I laugh without humor and cross my arms across my chest. Shaking my head I reply. "Nobody's asked me that before. I've been the one making sure everyone else is alright."

Paylor's eyes are a light brown and for the first time I can remember, they glow with genuine concern. "Well it's time someone considers how you are doing. I know you took care of your family and Katniss' your entire life and you never thought of doing anything else. That's how you are. You put others before yourself no matter what the situation is. I think it's time you pay attention to yourself."

For someone who seems so unimpressed with me all the time, she's actually observed more than I have myself. I don't respond because I don't know what to say. It's so true, what she's said. And I don't mean to be full of myself; thinking I'm better than everyone because I am selfless. I just never thought of not putting other people's survival before my own, it's not how I function. It was Rory, Vick, Posy, my mother and Katniss and Prim that I took care of before. Now it's a whole different type of family that I need to protect and give myself to.

"Put me on a mission," I say to her quickly. It doesn't have much to do with anything, but if there was one thing I want the most in the world, it's to do this.

Paylor scoffs and shakes her head. She believes I've completely missed the point. "You know I can't do that. What would Johanna do if you died?"

My mouth is sealed. She knows where to hit me. She must even know about my promise to never leave Johanna. Ever. I shake my head in disbelief. I can't believe she would go there right now. "Don't," I whisper firmly. I close my eyes as though I'm in pain, which I guess I am in a way. There's some sort of constant internal conflict raging inside of me.

Paylor sighs and begins walking slowly again. "This is exactly why I can't let you do anything in combat. You haven't recovered from everything that's happened to you. I know what you can do, Gale, I know how valuable you would be in the field. I'd have to be completely blind to not see what you can offer. But this is like why you can't tell Johanna anything about what we're doing. It's impossible to predict how either of you will react in compromising situation."

I want to deny what she says.

But every part of me knows that she's right.

Archer and Paxton have already secured a private room where the four of us can talk. There's a giant screen spanning one wall, a table with ten chairs around it and a dashboard full of computers against the wall adjacent to the screen.

"Thought you were never going to join us," Archer says as we enter the room and he dims the lights. Paxton switches on the screen and the dashboard glows blue, reflecting onto his face.

Menacing shadows are cast around with room with the odd mixture of light emitting from the two walls. Paylor is in today not doing what she expected, and she presses something by the door that orders coffee. Someone delivers it before Archer has sat down.

I don't even like coffee, but I'm aggravated about everything at the moment and decide the buzz might kill my irritation. Archer lives off the stuff and fixes his up quickly while Paxton takes timid sips.

"Begin," Paylor says once we've settled into seats opposite from each other. I can't figure out what Archer is presenting, or even what exactly we're talking about.

Archer flips a switch and a map of 2 pops up. A red circle flashes around the village where we are right now, and a blue one around a village further north where Paxton had been. "Paxton's report tells us that Lennox wasn't present during the three week mission."

Paylor pulls the coffee mug away from her mouth sharply. "What?"

Archer repeats what he said. "And don't talk yet. I'm not done."

The president is ready to argue, but I shoot her a look and she stops just as she opens her mouth.

"While you and Hawthorne were getting cozy, Paxton reminded me of his other reports and the other ones we've compiled in the last year. Lennox has been absent on three occasions; the beginning of June, midway through September and now. These absences are spaced apart by four and a half months. I don't think it's a coincidence. He's obviously going to another village they've had secured since the rebellion." Archer clicks something and the screen zooms in on the northern village so that it's a bird's eye view. "To the north, it gets colder. I know for a fact Lennox hates the cold. He hates how north his _own_ village is. If he travelled south, he's closer to us and more vulnerable. To the east is 3, or some foothills. There's no village though big enough to support the small number he has in the main village. That leaves the mountains. Which makes sense, because where's a better place to hide?"

Paxton's nodding. He must've thought most of this out already and told Archer, unless Archer thought through all of this so quickly. Archer smiles at Paylor, "you may speak."

She taps her fingernails along the table rhythmically. "How would we ever find where he is in the mountains?"

I feel like I should be contributing somehow, but nothing is coming to mind.

"Trackers," I say, surprising myself. "Like hunting animals."

Archer's smile grows bigger and he nods. "Exactly."

My heart begins pounding harder in my chest. Hunting. But hunting people. Adrenaline is already coursing through my body. Fuck, I want to do this.

Paylor knows where this conversation is headed and frowns. "I'm not letting you go, Gale."

I stand up. To leave maybe? I don't know. "You have to let me. This is my element. I'd be perfectly at ease."

Paxton opens his mouth- hopefully to argue my case- but Paylor silences him with her hand. "By the time we put this together, Johanna will have had her baby. I'm not letting you leave a newborn child and wife behind." She flashes me a look that tells me I'm being ridiculous, and to sit down. I ignore it.

Archer cuts across before Paylor can get any further. "You let me leave for two weeks three days after Leos was born. Did I die? Did Melaina die? When Lennox leaves again, Gale's child will be four and a half months old."

Paylor shakes her head furiously. A piece of her hair falls out of her bun. "Melaina hasn't lost everyone in her family. If Gale is killed somehow, Johanna has no one left."

An odd sort of pride fills me as Archer stands up. I never expected him to defend me, and I'm smiling lightly at the surprise. He stands in Paylor's view of the screen. "She has Melaina. She'll have the baby. She has Katniss and Peeta and Annie Odair. Hell, she even has me if it comes to that."

Paxton's been scribbling something down the whole while, and pushes the paper to Paylor. "He wouldn't be alone. We'd have a team. When it comes to the actual days of tracking, you'd have me, and five others and Gale going. Archer too if he wants."

He must've written names because Paylor considers them for a while before opening her mouth again. "Why these agents?"

"Because of their experience. I'm no hunter, but in 13 I practiced snares and traps and the sort more than anyone else there, before Gale and Katniss. Terek, and Weston were rebels from here. They hunt nearly every other day. Batel and Grings are from 13 as well, and we all worked in a unit along with Destera a rebel from 8 when we formed the ISA. We were rounding up in the far north."

There are too many names for me to comprehend who Paxton is talking about. I think two are women, but I'm not sure. Paylor is giving in though, because she scribbles on a fresh piece of paper.

_Hawthorne _

_Karis _

_Paxton_

_Batel_

_Weston_

_Terek_

_Grings_

_Destera_

She looks up at Paxton. "Is this right?"

He nods, his blue eyes dancing with delight.

Archer's eyes dart to mine and I silently thank him for pleading my case.

I'm finally getting out of this damned building.

* * *

><p>A letter is in Johanna's hands when I return home, and her small eyebrows are furrowed in concern.<p>

I don't understand how I never noticed her beauty before I loved her. Part of me had always considered her rather attractive, just not _beautiful_. Her eyes are a deep brown, big, but narrow and almond shaped. I get lost in them more than I want her to notice. Long thick lashes that tickle her cheeks when she looks down- like she is now- frame those eyes.

In pregnancy, I personally believe she's more beautiful than she ever has been. I may be biased because she's pregnant with my child, but a number of people have commented on it as well. Her face is friendlier looking, I must admit, with the roundness that has filled it. She was skinny before, often because she had mental lapses and couldn't bring herself to eat. Now, she's glowing with a healthy amount of weight on her body, aside from the baby bump.

The baby is due in two weeks. Her stomach looks ready to burst though, and I'm impressed that she managed to get enough nutrients in her body to let the child grow so large. She's gone to weekly appointments to make sure any issues that plagued her before, like the morphling addiction haven't affected the baby.

"What's the letter?" I ask closing the door loudly behind me. She hadn't noticed my arrival.

Johanna jumps. "I didn't hear you." She turns to me, looking exhausted with large bags under her eyes. The baby doesn't let her sleep.

Kuma was sleeping by the fireplace and hops up, wandering towards me, his big heavy silvery coat shaking fur all over the floor.

I throw my jacket onto the couch and walk slowly to Johanna. When I'm behind her I rest my chin on her shoulder and wrap my hands around her stomach. The baby is kicking; excitedly I would think. "What's wrong?"

She passes the letter to me wordlessly. Johanna doesn't do anything without some sort of comment.

_Dear Johanna and Gale,_

_It's weird not seeing you guys for such a long time. I think the last time I saw either of you was Gale in a newscast of some sort. I miss you both, and the baby and its bump._

_Posy talks so much about how excited she is to be an aunt, but I don't think Vick or Rory show quite the same level of excitement. Haymitch, well I don't know if you want to know what he thinks of it. He hardly tolerates Peeta and I and we're not quite children. Anyways, we know you'll tell us when the babies born, or the news will, but we want to say congratulations beforehand. _

_I don't know why I'm writing this and Peeta's not. I seem so insincere. There's no other way I can think of putting this, so here it is. _

_Peeta and I got married._

_Before you freak out, know that Haymitch was the only witness, and Greasy Sae did all the official stuff. We had our own small toasting and officially moved into the bakery. The Victor's Village seems too big with only the two of us._

_My mother and Annie are finding out in exactly the same way as you. We wish you could have been here, but there's no way you could come here without the media and entire country noticing. We don't want anyone knowing if they don't have to. _

_I hope you understand. You might be mad; well Gale, you might. I don't know. Forgive us please for not telling you until now. _

_We're happy for once, and we couldn't bear the media ruining it. _

_Please understand why we couldn't tell you. We hope everything is good with you guys, and all goes well with the baby. _

_Love, _

_Katniss and Peeta_

"Next thing you know she's going to tell us she's had triplets," Jo declares, intending to reduce the tension rising in my body.

The paper flutters out of my hand onto the counter. My best friend…

I don't expect her to do much for me, or anything at all. But not telling _me_ that she got married until after it's happened? It's something she would do. Fuck, it's something _I_ wanted to do. My mind flashes back to the day Peeta told Plutarch to fuck off. He must feel victorious now, Peeta. Plutarch has no idea what has slipped through his fingers.

That doesn't make it okay for her to not inform me earlier.

"I had been having a good day…" I mutter. My fingers flick the edge of the paper, and it takes every cell in my body to not tear it into a million shreds.

Johanna snatches it before I can do anything. "At least they said something."

An animal sound somewhere between a cry of pain and a grunt escapes me. I back up. Then my fist slams against the wooden island top. Johanna's dark eyes grow wide. "She could've surprised you a year from now."

The brains part of me that everyone knows me by tells me to calm down. My heart is stinging though. Never since I met Katniss have I imagined not being at her wedding in someway. Except when she was supposed to marry Peeta in the Captiol. I wouldn't have wanted to be there anyways.

"She could've told us before too," I mention quietly. If I had married Johanna in secret, I would've let Katniss know beforehand. Fuck, if I married Johanna during the rebellion in my family's compartment when no one was there, I would've had the decency to tell her before I told Johanna.

My wife turns so our baby is between us and she grabs my collar. Harshly, she tanks it down so my eyes are level with hers. "Your jealous you didn't think of it. Yeah, that was a stupid move by Katniss, but it's nothing new. Gale…" My eyes wander away from the molten rich dark gold that is her eyes and she pulls tighter. "It's happened. You can get mad _all _you want about it, but I learned long ago, there's no one to listen."

I'm about to argue that this isn't like a long time ago, and that she's here to listen, but she cuts me off by jerking my collar again. Tantalizingly slow, Johanna leans forwards and leaves her lips lingering an eighth of an inch from mine. The warmth of her breath brushes my lips as she speaks with finality.

"I'm not going to listen."

Somehow, it catches me off guard every time she presses her lips to mine. She tastes like a forest; so vast with so many layers it's impossible to distinguish one flavor. The grip on my collar slackens slightly and so I'm able to push back into the kiss. My entire body craves her, but I can't get to her because of the swell separating us.

"Gale," she murmurs softly into my mouth.

"We haven't had sex in three months."

Johanna pulls back slightly, but I stop her by biting her lip. "Well, you're the one who was scared it wasn't safe,"

I might as well strip her bare and do it before she can react. I want her so badly, so close to me I can't bear it. Instead of letting her stop, I place my hands on both sides of her head and guide her back towards me. "Let's fuck. I don't care."

Her hands slip from my collar and now she's pushing me backwards. I missed the part where our lips unattached. "There are two things stopping us. One: the Gala is in an hour and Two: I'm pregnant."

"Don't, Jo…" She's the only person who can make me feel helpless like this.

One more kiss, that's what she gives me and so I readily accept it. And then she's gone up the stairs and I'm stuck standing with desire.

It's the three-year anniversary of the ISA building _officially _opening. It doesn't even mark some important memorable event. Last year we had a party because the ISA was open for two years. It's pointless in my opinion. Why not hold the celebration every five years?

When I go up to our bedroom to change, Johanna throws clothes at me in a hurry. "Here, before you think about wearing something else."

She frowns upon my sense of style (which is non-existent because I could care much less) every opportunity she is given. The pants are black. I probably would've worn jeans. The shirt is a dress shirt, dark grey with some sort of dark blue design. My eyes flicker to the rich blue fabric draped around Johanna's body.

"You're kidding me," I say, exasperated. "Matching?"

"No one is going to care," she argues, zipping up the left side of the floor length dress.

"Archer is going to notice."

"So…?"

I sigh in defeat. He's never going to let me live this down. I don't doubt that if I were ever dying in front of him he would bring it up.

"And that color looks good on you," Johanna adds before popping into the bathroom, all of her hair clumped in one hand.

Pulling on the pants and buttoning up the shirt, I sigh. I don't doubt my wife's fashion sense for herself, but she could look attractive in a paper bag. She doesn't have to try hard to look good. I've been told I'm handsome, have a "camera ready face" and so on, but I question how I really look when Johanna dresses me. She chooses clothing incredibly quick, and I don't think it takes that little effort to make me presentable. I need so much more work.

Not that I want it. Or care.

Johanna comes back out a minute later with her hair all done up. I haven't the slightest clue how to braid let alone do what Johanna does. "How do I look?" Letting her arms fall to her side, she frowns. "Shit, my arms are fat."

I move to her. "You look beautiful, as always."

The frown grows rather than change to a smile. No amount of time around women will increase my ability to understand them. It's what she wanted me to say, isn't it? And it's true. I just can't understand…

"But like, if you were to see me, and never have met me, how would you say I look?"

I shrug and go to grab a tie, but she snatches it off of the dresser. "No tie. You don't look like you all dressed up."

Pursing my lips, I consider Johanna for a moment. If I didn't know her, I would say she looked pregnant. But I don't think she wants to hear that either.

Before I can answer, her pale face contorts in pain and she grabs the silk that's falling across the baby bump.

"Is something wrong with the baby?" My voice doesn't sound like mine. It's tight and difficult to squeeze out. _Please be okay._

Johanna shakes her head, and wipes her forehead nonchalantly. I can't help but notice that her dark, long lashes are clinging together with tears.

"Johanna…" I whisper, gently slipping her small hand from her head and into my hand.

"It's nothing. Just something I must have eaten earlier."

I don't believe her for a second. She's usually shrewd, and has an impeccable ability to lie. This is weak. And it terrifies me.

"The baby is fine. It doesn't hurt there."

Somehow, I'm convinced to let it go, and Johanna leads the way down the stairs. We hit the bottom and a storm of grey fur meets us. Kuma stays attached to Johanna as we make our way towards the front door, as though he can sense something's wrong.

There's a wintery breeze as we walk towards the main square. I never realized until this year that this is the exact square where Archer nearly killed Katniss. They fixed it up nicely after we fought for that small time period here. I can't determine if they replaced the stone or actually scrubbed the blood out of it following the destruction of the Nut.

The exterior of the ISA building is constructed entirely of glass, which makes it easy to miss in storms, and seriously susceptible if it was ever to be attacked. Thankfully, the snow is falling lightly compared to the blizzard we had a few nights ago.

The public entrance is located in the Justice Building, and so we enter through the marble pillars, greeted by agents dressed in black that have taken the place of Peacekeepers across the country. They know who I am, but check for ID before either of us can enter.

It's rather boring, the whole event. I know everything that has happened in the ISA since it's opened. All the presentations are about how much we've accomplished in maintaining peace etcetera, etcetera. "Important" people from across the country are present, and someone comments on my not wearing a tie. Apparently, I'm not formal enough for the occasion.

Small things like this are what irritate me. I have to remind myself that if I blow up, Paylor won't even toy with the idea of letting me out of my office.

It's nearly midnight before I know it, and Melaina and Johanna have disappeared somewhere. Archer sits at our table with me, downing what could be around his seventh or eighth beer. A few other agents had been seated with us, but they drifted off to other people in the room.

Leos, Archer and Melaina's ten-month-old son, sits in a baby's chair, sleeping with the late hour. He has a mop of blonde hair topping his head, and massive light blue eyes exactly like Melaina's. Drool trickles down his face. That is _not_ something I'm looking forward to.

"Have you told Jo you getta go on a mission?" Archer says, leaning sideways on the table from two chairs away.

I shake my head, and take a massive swig of beer. Nothing's foggy yet. My speech isn't slurred. But I can't recall how many I've had. "I don't know if she'll be happy or what. I'm scared to."

Archer lets out a bark of laughter, throwing his head back. "I would be too," he admits, mid-laugh. "But lemme tell you. Once you tell them, it's done. And then they can't stay mad forever."

I give Archer a little nod. "Good advice," I say, sarcastically.

He releases his bottle and pulls back, his hands raised slightly. "Just trying to help."

When he told Melaina the other morning that he was going undercover- and she and Leos were too- he literally just told her. Straight up. Then he left for work before she would say anything.

Shaking my head, I finish the bottle and slap it down onto the table. I crave for another one, or maybe some sort of hard liquor. I stand to leave for the bar when I see Melaina pushing through a crowd of people. Panic is written across her face, but she walks, calm and poised as always to us.

Archer grabs at her waist, and attempts to pull her down onto his lap, oblivious to the alarmed expression scrawled over her fair complexion. She pushes him away, leaving Archer with a sour face.

"I think Johanna's in labor," she announces, peeved by her husband.

My innards plummet. I can't put any words into what I'm feeling. Winded. I forget to breathe.

Archer is standing now, somewhat wobbly.

"Grab Leo, Archer," Melaina says before she whisks away. I assume I'm supposed to follow her.

It's so difficult to walk suddenly.

The baby is coming.

I'm about to be a father.

* * *

><p><strong>Like it? Love it? Hate it? Don't care?<strong>

**Since your down here, might as well click "review". It's what keeps me writing!**


	5. Winter Three: Part Three

**world's fastest update? just kidding, i already had half of this written out before last chapter. **

**thanks for all of your reviews, and i hope you enjoy this chapter as much as the last one! **

**the baby IS born and this IS from Johanna's POV again. sorry for switching so much.**

**just a warning: i obviously haven't the slightest clue about childbirth, i just used my knowledge from TLC shows, so hopefully it's almost realistic.**

**ENJOY**

* * *

><p>It all started with a blanket.<p>

That stupid wool blanket that pops up whenever it seems I'm cold.

The end of June is cold here. It was raining that day, but not a warm rain. More like icicles falling, shooting from the heavens. The sun never shows its face on such days. I can't recall exactly what I was doing, but that I was on the couch, cradling a mug of hot broth in my hands. One thing about being impoverished before, I learned to whip up a quick comforting broth out of nearly anything.

Maybe it started with the rain.

We had been given the _okay_ to try for a baby since April of that year, and we did, but it wasn't working. They thought maybe it was all the morphling remnants in my system; they didn't know. No former addict had ever lived long enough to have a child. Then they thought it was Gale, and that all of the injuries he had received in the past had affected his ability to help produce a child.

Anyways, Gale came home, drenched from the downpour, his eyelashes clinging together just as tightly as his clothes were. I had the blanket around me, and he was eying it enviously. All I did was grin and pull it more tightly around my body.

"You're getting the floor wet," I said with a smirk. He actually looked incredibly sexy dripping with water. "Why are you back early?"

Gale ignored my teasing and moved a few feet in every direction, spreading the water around. He was doing it to spite me, which was fine; I wouldn't be the one cleaning up. "We finished in Tactics near noon. Archer was eager to get the mission started."

I nodded, watching his discomfort in being so wet.

"Could you get me a towel or something?" He asked, frustrated with my inactivity.

"Shouldn't you be monitoring Archer? Make sure the mission goes well?" I inquired, avoiding his impatience.

Gale muttered something unintelligible and stalked toward the stairs, shaking out his hair and spraying me along the way. I wasn't the only thing pissing him off, he was angry that he wasn't with Archer. "Paylor came today to monitor it. Where's the dog?"

Kuma was about a year old at this point, and finally began to settle down from his hyped up puppy stage. "He was sleeping upstairs last time I checked."

Gale reached the bedroom peaking over the railing to me a moment later. "Is that the blanket from the bed?" Droplets of water run off of his nose and hit the floor beside the coffee table. "It is, isn't it?"

It's like he was accusing me of a crime. "Am I not allowed to move things from one floor to the other?"

"I'm just fucking cold," Gale argued, taking his shirt off and hanging it over the balcony. Next his pants flew over, then his boxers. And suddenly he was downstairs again, stark naked in front of me, expecting the blanket.

"Awe, you're shivering," I teased, raising my eyebrows at him, as he grew closer. "That's cute." His hand went out for the blanket. "But that's disgusting. I'm not letting you put this on your bare balls."

His grey eyes ignited with fury, and before I knew it, he had torn the tattered woolly thing from around my body, wrapping it around his shoulders. As he turned to return back upstairs, I caught the edge of the blanket and pulled as hard as I could manage.

"I was enjoying the view!"

Apparently, Gale had horrible balance in that fateful moment, because he tumbled backwards to me. I can't remember exactly how, but his slippery body was on top of mine, and the blanket on the floor, in a puddle that his hanging clothes had created.

"Look what you've done," he said, attempting to place anger in the words, but we were both chuckling at the sopping wool. "Now nobody can use it."

My hands were on his chest, pushing him away, but his muscles were all tensed and rigid, his abs rippling beautifully. Water rolled from the tips of his hair and began getting my clothes wet. "That's okay. I have another idea for keeping warm."

I began sitting up, so that we could switch positions, but Gale was standing, dripping on the floor again. He pulled me hurriedly off of the couch, and managed to do so in an incredibly smooth manner. My mouth and body were pressed tightly against his.

I can remember it all so vividly from there. To pull off my shirt, he allowed his cold fingertips to play along my hips, sending jolting shivers through my body. And then they curled around the hem of the shirt, pull gently upwards until I had to disengage from his mouth and finish the rest myself. My pants managed to find their way into the puddle rather quickly as well, and my undergarments weren't discovered until a few days later.

My bare back was against the cold stone of the wall, but I hardly paid it any attention. Gale's mouth was on my jaw. He left a trail from my neck to my shoulders, and then to my collarbone. Those tormenting soft lips worked downwards, between my breasts and to my abdomen though I wasn't sure how he managed it with my hips hitched around his waist.

"Whatever the hell is under here," he whispered breathlessly, the chill of his words causing me to squirm. "Whatever it is, let's get it working."

And we did just that.

* * *

><p>Gale massages my shoulders, but when his hot lips hit my neck I lean forwards and away from them.<p>

I'm walking around, much too restless to sit in the bed and allow the contractions to pulverize me. I've tied my hair up, because it sticks to my necks with the sweat that drenches my body.

Time has no meaning to me right now. I know we came in last night, but I don't know what time it is today, or if it's even today anymore. I haven't slept; Gale hasn't slept. Archer and Melaina have slipped in and out and I faintly recall Paylor coming in for five minutes an hour or two after I arrived.

"How long has it been?" I ask. I'm staring out a window, at steam that rises from lower roofs of the hospital. It's one of the tallest buildings in town (six stories high) and there are still two floors below me. It's dark, I guess. My eyes hadn't wandered outside until now.

The nurses have switched up every hour or so I believe, and I don't even know if this girl has been in here before. She checks her watch. "Twenty hours."

I don't know if she means twenty hours since I arrived or what. The contractions began hitting about an hour before Gale came home. I didn't know what was wrong; it hurt like it did when I had a miscarriage, just not as heightened. I couldn't admit to Gale or myself that something was wrong, and so at the gala I told Melaina.

They broke my water for me when it wasn't breaking on its own, and said that it was supposed to speed up my labor. So much for that.

Gale's hands stop moving. He spins me around gently. "Are you sure you don't want to get it done?"

There is no way I am having an operation to get this baby out. "Don't talk," I tell him, put off by the idea. The nurse looks like she wants to recommend the surgery, but I give her a look and she shrinks into herself.

Since the town is so small, the number of delivery rooms is small. But each of them are huge, the size of my bedroom at home. There's a couch near the window, where Melaina sits now. When you walk in the door, the bed is on the left hand side, the couch on the far wall.

The midwife waits patiently by the bed having been the one suggesting that I walk around for a few minutes. I'm losing more blood than I want to be, so they shoved some uncongenial towel between my legs so the blood doesn't hit the floor.

There's a knock at the door. I spin away from Gale and the nurse I frightened opens it up. Archer appears, holding his hands up in defense. "Just me," he announces. He nods casually at me in all of my discomfort. There's a faint twisting rising in my body.

"Another one," I whisper, changing my focus from Archer's arrival to the growing tension. And then it hits. Like running into a brick wall at full speed, or being loaded full of arrows; I have experience with both situations. This could be a combination of both, plus some full body shaking and endless joint cramps.

I just breathe, because really, I managed to make it through two Hunger Games, torture and a war. I can have a baby. This isn't that bad.

But it is.

The climax of the contraction slices into my body, and I moan. It's guttural and ugly, but I can't take anymore of this. _Twenty hours_.

There's no end. I've wait for this baby since we got married, then I've been waiting another eight and a half months, now I have to wait through this. Somehow, this seems longer than all of the others combined.

Gale's holding a cool cloth and it's made his hands chilly. They slide under my gown and trace gentle figure eight on my fiery belly. His strong shoulders and body encircle me from behind, and I nearly fall backwards onto him as the contraction dissipates.

"Oh-h-h," I manage out in a shaky breath. "Oh fuck."

The midwife slips on a new pair of gloves and walks over to me. "You're doing great, Johanna. There's nothing easy about this. Especially not this long wait."

The cooling hands on my belly move away as she progresses towards me. Ravern. That's her name. "I'm going to see how dilated you are, and hopefully you'll be pushing within the hour. Gale, if you could just hold the towel…"

I wish Archer never showed up. I hate people seeing me vulnerable, especially him. He's on the couch, and I turn so that Gale's back in completely to him, blocking me from his view. Ravern bends down and pulls the saturated towel out, handing it to Gale. His hand is instantly scarlet red.

I wasn't permitted to do this any other way than naturally. They won't give me any painkillers because they don't know how my body will react since I still have traces of morphling inside of me. Before Ravern knew me, and what happened to me in the Capitol, she suggested I do a water birth to make it easier. Right now, the idea doesn't sound so horrible, but if I was submerged in the water I don't know how I would've pulled myself together enough to get the baby out. "You're about nine centimeters. It'll be soon, I advise you get to the bed."

_Soon_. I'm not ready to push. I'm not ready for this baby, but I want it out of me.

I noticed the brilliant flash of blood covering her glove. I've been bleeding this whole time. How can I not be dead?

Gale practically carries me to the bed; he's supporting my back and my trembling legs. Eventually, he does pick me up, smearing the blood from his hand across my gown. He places me softly on the bed, and I'm immediately propped up with pillows.

"You can turn on your side if you wish," the nurse says timidly from her post by the door.

I take her advice, facing away from Archer. Gale walks over and kneels in front of my face. He's been perfectly silent. Almost. But he's been encouraging at the right moments, but more importantly, he's just been beside me the entire time. Not pacing like he normally would. Not pushing his hands through is hair. He's controlled his nervous habits for me, and somehow, it's oddly touching.

"You know that time you decided to bake a cake for the first time?"

_What?_

I take all that back that I said about him.

I'm about to express my bemusement at his question, but a contraction is hitting faster than I thought possible. My eyes clamp shut, and I focus on breathing again.

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

Gale grabs my hand and lets me squeeze the pain out of me, and into him. Peaking. It peaks, and I give another grunt of agony. This is worse. This is much worse that those three arrows I got in the gut in my first games. It's worse than the miscarriage I had, though I was drugged up on morphling at that point.

"What- what kind of question was that?" I pant, loosening my grip on Gale's hand as it passes as quickly as it came.

Gale's face that has been stoic creases around his cheeks as he grins. I never can get over his beautiful skin. I want this baby to look like him, even if it's a girl. A girl version of my husband would be so beautiful. His hand is on my exposed cheek and his grey eyes fastened onto mine.

"You wanted to bake it. And I didn't know what the fuck to do. So I let you do it, and I couldn't help."

I remember now. I think it was Kuma's birthday or something. The cake was more for us than him, and neither of us had ever baked. Gale actually went and slept, because I wouldn't let him try his hand at it.

"Okay," I say uncertainly, not wanting to blink and lose his gaze. "I remember."

"That's how I feel right now. Helpless. I can't do anything."

I let a weary laugh escape my lips. "Just stay quiet. I like you better that way."

Being the good husband he is, Gale just smiles lightly and squeezes my hand reassuringly. His free hand touches where my eyebrows seem to be permanently squeezed together, and somehow they relax. His voice is low. "What are you thinking?"

"I never thought I would live to have a baby."

I swallow. Tears threaten suddenly. Reality crashes over me in a freezing wave. I should've died so many times. I can't count how many people have tried to kill me. Since I was fifteen I've wanted kids. When I was seventeen I didn't think I'd survive to be eighteen.

Gale nods because there's nothing else to do.

"I never thought I would live to find you."

It's my turn once again, to clutch his hand with all of my might. This once isn't peaking; or leaving. There's a constant, persistent grind, a stabbing pain that is nearly enough to make me vomit.

"It's not…" I can't spit the words out. Why isn't it vanishing? I loosen my muscle, but it doesn't make a difference. My body is still rigid with pain. Everything's burning; I'm on fire.

The room is completely silent for a moment. Then there's the assured beep of my heart monitor, and the beep for the baby's. Machines are still whirring. Nobody talks.

Ravern walks to the foot of the bed, unconcerned by my pain. "Has it gone?"

My insides seem like they're being rearranged, and an urge to spit them all up grows. Somehow, I shake my head.

"You're in transition. It's normal. The baby will be out before you know it," Ravern explains. "Just a _little_ longer until you can push."

Longer.

Longer.

I try to concentrate on breathing, gripping Gale's hand and then releasing it rhythmically. Everything is so intensely unbearable right now; I close my eyes in hopes that it'll all dissipate into the darkness.

"I'm done," I whimper. I'm searing, and tearing and might as well have an animal be shredding me into bits. "I can't do this anymore."

Gale's lips are on mine as I repeat my doubts. I don't have the energy to kiss back, but his was meant to shut me up, and it works. His finger presses to my lips, to remind me that I'm wasting more energy complaining than anything else.

Something on his wrist catches my eye- a long, thin scar from the side of his wrist to his elbow. I've counted his scars during sleepless nights, and I don't recall ever seeing this one.

"What's this?" I trace it with a shaky finger.

"The rescue mission," he explains. "It's like the one on my shoulder. Metal from a door we blew up."

I take to mapping out his old battle wounds for a minute or two, just to distract myself from the agony. Most are from hunting, either recently or in the past. They erased most from the rebellion when they fixed up his fractured hip and bullet wounds in the Captiol. There is one bullet marking in the crook of his right elbow. I show my surprise that it wasn't cleared away.

When I point to it, Archer laughs from far away. I had forgotten he was present. Gale smirks and touches the mark. "Training. Back when we weren't fans of one another."

I'm not sure if he means me and him, or him and Archer. I've personally _always_ been a fan. There's no time to ask though, because Ravern is instructing me to turn onto my back.

Somebody asks Gale something and he wanders to the foot of the bed with Ravern. My heart constricts, but Melaina takes his place with a wide grin. "Ready?"

I nod, but decide with myself that I'll never be ready.

"Gale?" I ask, remembering something. "We haven't thought of any names."

The room chuckles at my concern. I'm legitimately worried. What if we can't ever think of something and my baby goes nameless?

"Tell you what," Gale begins, raising his eyebrows at me, "once it's born, I'll let you choose. Write it on the birth certificate. I won't be able to contradict that."

To the left, I see Archer leaning against the wall beside the scale they have prepared for the baby. His dark green eyes look faintly reminiscent, and he glances occasionally to Melaina.

"Johanna, when I count to three, I want you to push as hard as you can." A nurse tells me to bend my knees, and she orders Gale to come to one.

"One."

_Holy shit_. What am I doing? Why did we ever want a baby?

"Two."

I glance around quickly. Why does everyone look so ecstatic?

"Three."

I honestly don't believe there can be much to pushing. Aren't I just supposed to put a bit of effort in and the slimy monster will pop out? But I have to scrunch forwards; Gale and the nurse push back on my knees. Gale's smiling, but with humor rather than excitement.

I grit my teeth and Melaina grips my hand as I scream with my teeth barred. My cheeks are flushed from the effort, and an unexplainable amount of pressure fills my pelvis.

"… nine and ten," Ravern says, and I assume I can stop for a moment. She sits down and I can barely see the top of her head. "Okay, Johanna, you're doing wonderful. That was perfect. It's normal to feel any stinging or burning. This is going exceptionally quickly compared to the rest of your labor."

It's impossible to tell how much time passes before I'm pushing again. And then again.

I want to swear and scream and murder Gale. "Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you," I whimper on the fourth round of pushing, directing my words to Gale. He doesn't react, just chuckles easily. I have no effort to insult him any other way, though I lust to. I have no energy left to push again.

But I have to, because the baby is crowning. Everything is searing and becomes more and more agonizing though I didn't know it was possible. When I push again, I force every cell of my body into it. I force everything downward in hopes that the kid will just come out already.

Why is Gale at my knee? Why can't he hold my hand?

I'm pushing one more time and he leaves my knee, Melaina taking it instead.

And then I know why he's not up here. The entirety of my being goes into this one. If the baby doesn't come out now, it's never coming out at all.

"Stop."

"Stop."

Why the _fuck_ are they telling me to stop? I have a _fucking_ baby to get out!

"Jo," Gale whispers in the dead quiet as I collapse backwards onto the pillows.

_Dead_ quiet. No. It has to be okay.

A doctor sighs and there's a quiet sound of impact. And then it starts. A horrible, shrill, heart-wrenching screech that can only mean the baby is out. My ears hurt, but somehow the sound is beautiful.

Gale has blue gloves on his hands, and is holding the flailing baby. They wanted him to be the first to touch the child; he must've caught it as it came out. There's blood covering the baby and the gloves, but it must be okay because everyone is laughing, and Melaina is tearing up.

"Here," Gale says, more to the child than me as he shifts it in his grasp and hands it to me. I don't know if my arms are strong enough right now to hold it, but I manage despite how slippery and squirmy it is.

It's tiny in my arms, and covered in blood and other fluid I don't care to acknowledge. Shriveled, and wrinkled and blue and purple; it should be ugly. But it's not. It's weight in my arms, the grim that smears onto me; it doesn't bother me, everything is so beautiful right now, I begin to cry.

Gale's uncovered, warm hands cover mine, and he supports the baby's head as he helps me hold it up. I don't understand at first what he's doing, but then he says something so quietly I can't hear him. I notice then, what is special about the baby.

"A boy."

We agreed we didn't want to know until the baby was born. And here _he_ is.

A beautiful baby boy.

Gale gets to cut the umbilical cord and then Ravern weighs him and checks to make sure he's healthy, but the moment they're done Gale returns him back into my arms.

He has a tuft of dark hair that's free of goop now, taking after both Gale and I. Seven pound exactly; all of it formed inside of me. He's both of ours, and the fact that he belongs to us is so undeniable. I can't imagine him belonging to anyone else.

There are congratulations from Archer and Melaina before they leave to get Leos whose been staying at Archer's older brother's house. Paylor even calls to congratulate us.

I feed our son… _our son_… and Gale settles into the bed beside me as everyone leaves. It's hurts at first, but then I decide I'll grow used to it as the baby continues. One of the nurses gave Gale the birth certificate so that we can name _him_ and make everything official.

He finds a pen and offers it to me once the baby has finished. Somehow I'm surprised that he kept is word about the naming. Gale grabs him and cradles him closely, kissing his forehead and staring with such adoration I feel like I'm missing something. Should I be feeling some sort of stronger connection? Gale seems to be.

I put the thought from my mind and remember the paper in my hands. Something so simple, it'll seal the fate of my child forever. It's like the paper that they pulled at Quarter Quells. Nothing is different about the type of paper, yet one had the ability to sentence so many people to death, while this one is bringing a person to life in a way.

My hand is shaking.

"Do you want me to do it?"

I shake my head.

Name.

The pen is firmly in my grasp, but it quivers when it hits the paper. I scrawl it quickly while taking care to shield it so Gale can't see. I scribble the date, and sign under my name.

I exhale, and hand the pen to Gale. We swap the birth certificate for the baby and he pauses and glances sidelong at me.

"Why am I letting you choose his name?" Gale asks. He's teasing, but my face stays straight.

"Because you trust me," I whisper, staring into the depths of his grey eyes. "And if you were choosing I would trust you."

Gale's body tenses in anticipation as he averts his eyes back to the paper. He swallows. I don't get a reaction; he scribbles his signature onto the paper and just stares at it for a minute.

"It is bad?"

He shakes his head slowly. Two blinks… exhale. "Just the opposite." He bites his lip and stands up without looking at me. Taking long strides to put it on a table near the door, Gale seems to be blinking away tears.

There's a phone on the wall and he punches in numbers without speaking. A few seconds pass and I'm tempted to ask what he's doing, but the baby is so soundly asleep I don't dare disturb him.

"Hi, Rory?"

Of course he would call his family. I completely forgot that anyone existed outside of us for a while.

I can't hear what Rory's saying, so I attempt to understand the conversation from Gale's few words.

"You guessed right. But don't say anything. Can I talk to mom?"

Gale pushes his hair back with one hand and leans against the wall, his back towards me.

"I told Rory not to say anything," he sighs. The voice on the other end is exploding with joy. "It's a boy and not quite an hour ago. Thanks, mom."

I'm waiting for her to ask for the name.

"His name is Keidan." Gale's voice cracks slightly, but he recovers quickly. "Yeah, after Dad."

My heart's pounding and I glance down at Keidan who whimpers slightly in his slumber. My thumb traces lines across his soft cheeks. He looks like a Keidan Hawthorne.

"I'll call her in a bit- oh hey, Posy." Gale shifts the phone against his ear and begins turning back to me. I've never seen him legitimately cry, and I doubt I ever will. His eyes are red though and he rubs them furiously. "Yeah, Jo had a baby boy. Congratulations Auntie!"

My husband shakes his head, laughing as Posy squeals with glee. Then she's off talking again. "Okay, love you Pose. Vick doesn't need to talk to me, just tell him what I told you. Except that he's an uncle. Thanks, Posy."

Before looking at me, Gale types in another phone number and wanders back to us. I realize dumbly that there is a clock on the wall that I haven't noticed the entire time I've been here. It's nine at night. I do the math quickly and decide my contractions started around six yesterday. The dinner was at seven and we got to the hospital around midnight. When the nurse said twenty hours, she meant from when I had arrived.

I was in labor for twenty-six hours.

"Katniss?"

"Gale?" As Gale climbs back onto the bed I can hear the conversation perfectly.

"Yeah. Jo just had the baby," he says, voice tight. His must still be pissed off about Katniss' letter yesterday.

"Seriously? Peeta," Katniss must be leaning from the phone. "Johanna had the baby! Gale, I'm so happy for you. How's Johanna?"

Gale acknowledges that I'm eaves dropping and passes the phone to me wordlessly. "Hello?" I say, even though I know Katniss is on the other end.

"Johanna? How are you feeling?" Katniss sounds happier than I ever recall hearing her. And it's _my_ baby.

"Fine. Well, it hurt like a bitch, but I'll be okay. He's here though. Ready to face the world," I lock my eyes on Keidan, on his little pink lips that shape an 'o'.

"What's his name?"

"Keidan," I reply softly, as though the name is sacred. "After Gale's dad."

"Hold on, Peeta wants to talk to you." There's a lot of rustling and moving before I hear Peeta's voice.

"A baby boy then?"

Stupidly, I nod and then realize he can't see me. "Yes. He's beautiful."

Peeta talked about Katniss a lot before they tortured the hell out of him. He spoke about how he wished there was a baby, because he was going to die, and he didn't want to leave Katniss. It sounded disgusting to me at the time, because I hadn't quite realized their whole lovey-dovey thing wasn't quite for show. It was simple to see how much he loved her, but it grew tiresome to hear.

If Gale were to die, I would have a bit of him in Keidan. He would still be with me.

"I understand what you were talking about before," I whisper, because my lips are trembling at the thought of Gale dying. "In the Captiol. I don't know if you remember."

"I do. I'm happy you pulled through, Jo. You and Gale deserve each other, and the baby."

"You too," I say weakly. I mean him and Katniss deserve each other, but I can't explain it because my brain is so muddled from everything. Peeta will understand what I meant though; he understands everyone. Well, he used to, but thankfully, that Peeta is slowly returning.

We disconnect because no more words are needed. Gale doesn't ask about my new wave of tears, he just wipes them gently away with his thumbs and kisses my cheeks. Exhaustion smashes all of my resolve, and I'm sobbing violently.

"I'm so proud of you, Johanna," Gale says, easing Keidan from my arms. He pulls up my chin with one hand and fastened his eyes onto mine. "Know that. I'm always proud of you."

* * *

><p><strong>sorry if it seems a bit rushed, i just couldn't not update today. <strong>

**you've read this far, take the time to review? please?**

**ps: keidan is pronounced like kee-dan. not kay-dan. just thought i would clear it up.**


	6. Summer Three: Part One

**Not toooo bad of a wait, right? School starts tomorrow so that means sports and other junk too. Can't guarantee when the next one will come, though I do have it planned out. **

**This is a little bit of a filler, and a little bit slow, and in Gale's POV, but I hope you can**

**ENJOY!**

**and review, because honestly, that's what keeps me going.**

* * *

><p>There's Lennox, directly in front of me. He's sneering, with dark beady eyes and thin pale lips. I haven't any idea where we are. Everything is dark, and I see only him. I look left and right frantically, like I'm missing something. There's nothing but more black.<p>

"Do you know why you're here, Hawthorne?" just his voice has the ability to send chills over my body. He has blonde hair like it seems everyone from 2 does, but it's unkempt and its too long for his age. His jaw is square, and he looks every part a villain.

Then there's music. He just grins as it grows louder. To my left, a light grows and I'm suddenly watching a video that seems like a memory. Is there a screen there? Everything is so confusing… I can't wrap my mind around what's happening.

The music is from 12, and it does seem like a memory. It's in a large backyard that backs into the forest. Well, large by Seam scale. People are dancing and laughing, others are throwing up and chugging down alcohol. A party. But then I start recognizing people. This isn't a video. I touch my head, to see if something's connected to it, that fishes out my memory, but there's nothing except my hair.

My old friend Mack has his hands roaming over some town girl looking for a thrill. It might be her house. I can't remember. Mack is dead though. He was one of my best friends from school; I didn't have just Katniss. Mack, Iver and Reegan. We wreaked havoc with girls I guess you could say. If the were from the Seam it didn't mean anything, everyone hooked up at parties. If they were from town it meant they were trying to be rebellious. I spot Iver talking with Reegan and his girlfriend from the Seam.

Why is this happening? Mack and Reegan died when 12 was destroyed. I don't know how, I just know that they weren't there when we waited for someone to save us in the woods. Iver helped take down the fence. He didn't hesitate when I told him I needed his help even though we had hardly spoken since neither of us was in school. We had made friends from our mining crews, and nights for partying were over so we hardly saw one another. I didn't keep touch with him in 13, I just saw him occasionally.

Some kids that are good with instruments play around on them, and us Seam kids always made up new dances. I brought out my guitar to one party, but I realized I enjoyed taking girls clothes off more than strumming and it never happened again. Really, parties never stayed in one place, but a town kid must've offered their house for it, or else we would've been wandering around the Seam.

I realize what's happening. This isn't a memory. Its just images of people I remember, in a moment that reminds me of them. Then Lennox shows up in it. He's pulling a dark haired girl towards the woods by the arm despite her struggles and screaming. Everything vanishes and it's him and me again. But the girl is in his grasp.

The sneer seems to be plastered on his face, and he spins the girl around harshly.

Instinctively, I reach for her but she's just out of my grasp. It's Johanna.

"Goodbye, Hawthorne," Lennox grins. He yanks Johanna back as she scream for me, pleading for Lennox to let go.

"Johanna!"

I can't move. I'm being restrained by something invisible. Johanna's on the ground though I don't know how and something is in Lennox's hand. A pistol. Pine's pistol.

My heart's hammering. "Don't."

Lennox points the pistol at Johanna's head. She's not moving. What the fuck is going on?

"Shoot me!" I bellow. Lennox moves the pistol now, so it's pointed between my eyes. I don't care. He can't kill Johanna. She can't die. "Do it."

"You want to die?"

I swallow. This is it. "Yes. Not her."

Lennox barks out a crazed laugh. "You think I don't know what she is to you?"

What do I say? "Please. Don't hurt her."

He pulls the pistol back from my forehead and lets it hang by his side. "Too late. I _had_ her before you did. But now she can't scream like she did then."

Three shots ring out. I wait for impact, but instead see blood spray from Johanna's limp body onto Lennox.

I jump up, panting. Nothings in darkness; lightning illuminates the bedroom follow a second later by a violent rumble of thunder. My skin is sleek with sweat; my heart hammering it's way out of my chest. Hands search through the rumpled covers for Johanna. When they hit her she moans in aggravation.

"What?"

I keep my hands on her body, savoring the sensation of her skin on my fingertips. She was dead. But that was a nightmare. She's alive.

"Just a nightmare… Sorry."

Johanna's hand finds mine and gives it a tired squeeze. She mumbles something as she drifts between sleep and consciousness, but I can't understand it. I wait before her breathing slows to a sleeping pace again, and then I settle back into the covers. Rain pounds heavily on the windows and I wonder if it's hailing; then there's more lightning and thunder and wind. I'm pleasantly surprised when Keidan doesn't start bawling from the noise.

The kid wakes up for anything. I open a door and he'll sob until Johanna and I pick him up from wherever he is. I turn on the sink and he'll hear it from his crib up here and begin wailing. The pediatrician said it's because he's cutting his first tooth, but he's done this from day one.

I can't sleep until I'm one hundred percent sure Johanna and him are asleep. It's some sort of compulsive issue, or something. Trying to sleep doesn't work. I'm not wired to do that. Tonight though, knowing that they're asleep won't suffice. I have to remind myself that they're alive; my family here and in 12 is alive. Katniss is alive. It's okay.

Lennox can't take them from me.

* * *

><p>Offices is a mess as we attempt to prepare for the upcoming mission. The eight of us going are constantly walking from one office to the other, finalizing little details that could make the difference between life and death. When I'm not running from place to place or busy training, I'm on the phone with Paylor and the old victor Lyme who is representing 2 in the Captiol.<p>

She has mapped out where supply stations will be for us should we get lost in the wild; it turns out she has a deeper knowledge of 2's back country than Archer. There is still a week before we leave, but everything has to be in place tomorrow just incase any last minute changes need to be made in the next seven days.

When I finally get to go home, I should be excited to finally relax. But I can't. And not just because I'm a dad now and not because I…

Just thinking about it has caused me to pause in my tracks. Offices is blaring with activity in my wake, and countless numbers of people enter an elevator before me as the one beside it unloads.

_What's happened to my life?_

None of this feels real. At least working in the mines was my reality, something I knew I was being raised to do. But _this?_ Commanding a sort of army for an entire country? No longer being squished at the bottom of the food chain by the enormous weight above…

Someone says something to me as they whisk by and I realize its Archer.

…Him and I are at the top. We influence the President more than anyone else; it's surreal. I have a woods where I can go and think about this, but I'd rather have my old woods, and sometimes my old thoughts and Katniss to listen. I wish I had my kid brothers and sister to return to, to see them smile every time I walk in the door, even if I brought back nothing to eat.

"Got it?"

Archer's snapped me back, faster than I wanted to return. He's staring at me with an odd intensity. I've missed something important.

"Yeah."

Laughing, Archer shakes his head. "No you don't. You didn't listen to a bloody word, and I've been working all day…!"

Rolling my eyes, I push past him to the elevators. I don't give a flying fuck about what he's been up to. I need to hunt; get away from everything and everyone.

It's prime hunting time. The animals are out of hibernation mode and have had enough food since then to make them somewhat less volatile. There are baby animals afoot and thought it nearly kills me every time, I can use them as bait for the older animals.

I really guess nothing is below me.

For whatever reason, my emotional wounds are delicate today, and I can only bring myself to make traps for the grown game.

If there was anyone that always had a smile for you, it was Prim. To her, I was an older brother, and no matter what was happening, her smile made it easier to get on. Whereas Katniss is and dark and sullen like I am, Prim was refreshing, a bright ray of sunlight to lessen your burdens. I've extinguished that sun, and that pure joy and innocence not because it was my fault she died. My bomb design passed through many hands before it became real, no fingers can be pointed solely on one person. Prim's aura is gone because I haven't accepted that everything from my old life has changed or been destroyed.

I can't complain about everything that's happened since, but I feel like some part of me died when Prim and everything else was destroyed. And I can't ever feel completely happy again.

Just a moment of pure happiness is what I want.

I lay out the traps throughout the forest, checking others along the way. There are a few rabbits that I've caught, but one trap has snared a baby one. As I approach, I see it's too late to save the thing; it's long dead. The twine should have snagged a rodent with a wider girth, not anything so tiny.

The forest atmosphere eases the tension that's risen up in me unknowingly. Piney mulch crunches underneath my tread as I progress to the rabbit. Rage is boiling in my veins at the little mishap. This shouldn't have happened. There shouldn't be a dead baby in one of my traps. My hands tremble as I work the knots so I can release the animal.

_Breathe._

I don't remember being _so_ quick to anger.

Black is filling my field of vision like it normally does when I have one of those episodes. My chest is tightening and I want to scream, but I can't muster the breath to do it. An unexplainable amount of fury overcomes me, but the feeling isn't unfamiliar. This can happen more than once a day, and I should be grateful it's not happening in the house where I can break something.

This disorder or whatever, it's not like Peeta. He is weakened by his these _things_. In comparison, I'm strengthened in a horrible way that makes me so much more destructive than I am when I'm coherent. Maybe if I sleep more this will stop. But I can't sleep for more than two or three hours at a time and not because Keidan is awake or Johanna is. Nightmares like last night's are what haunt me. And memories and regrets… I drown in them all in one night.

The darkness recedes and my body loosens. I've torn apart the twine in my hands without noticing. It's so much worse when I'm in the office or at home; I tear and break and smash and yell without realizing what I'm doing. The other night, I threw a plate at a wall for no reason and days before that I lost it on Johanna. Swearing and cursing and calling her names I wouldn't say to anyone, let alone my own wife.

When I've collected everything from the hunt, I decide I can't go home. Not yet. It's not safe for me to be near Keidan when I lose it. Like the good old days, I give the butcher a visit, stopping by his backdoor and handing off a few birds and two rabbits like it's still some sort of secret transaction.

"I'll be damned," he says appreciatively, admiring the geese that he's been holding up by their legs, "still the cleanest kills I've ever seen."

"I've had a lot of practice," I say modestly, stepping back into the deserted alley.

The butcher shakes his head as though he doesn't believe me. "Promise me you'll teach that boy of yours to hunt as fine as you do…"

A sense of pride fills me at the thought of teaching Keidan what my father taught me. "I'll try my best. Don't think I could match up to my own father as a teacher though."

He laughs his low chuckle and grabs the door handle to close it. "Thanks for the treat, Hawthorne."

I nod and muster a grin. "Anytime."

Johanna will be furious if I bring fresh meat back and she's already prepped our meal, and so I reason it's best if I pawn off the other few rabbits inside of my bag. Before my last hunt, one of the agents tipped me off that she gave the hospital fresh meat she caught in the woods, and they would always accept it. It seems odd to me that a place so disgustingly sterile would take in such unsanitary products, but I'm not about to question it.

Thankfully, towns people are used to having me stroll about now and take care to not gawk or have awkward interactions. I make it to the hospital with only three ladies congratulating me on Keidan's birth as if it were new news. I encountered a middle-aged man the other day who wholeheartedly believed that us deciding to have Keidan was some sort of publicity stunt now that Katniss and Peeta aren't in the limelight. It's been four and half months since his birth, and we've avoided the media at all costs since the night he was born.

"Mr. Hawthorne."

I've arrived at a door near the back of the hospital that I've assumed could lead to the kitchens. There's a tall man, clad is black scrubs with a white facemask around his neck. Dark intuitive eyes flicker to my bag.

"Can I get this to the kitchens?" I ask, hoisting the bag up. I haven't the slightest clue as to who this man is.

"Hunting?" he inquires. I can't see past his body to what's behind him, and the light reflects on his nametag so that I can't read it properly.

"Obviously."

"I can take that for you." The doctor leans forwards for my bag, but I pull it back.

"Could you just tell me where to go?"

As though the idea occurred to him before, he replies: "of course. Just follow me."

I know he's a doctor, and he's probably preoccupied with some surgery or something, but he is very suspicious. He had balls enough to call me by name, not introduce himself and he did appear in a very obscure area of the hospital.

The lighting is miserable at best, and each ceiling light buzzes incessantly. The man isn't looking backwards, and the hallway we are in is more of a tunnel than anything else. Apparently no one checks up on it very often because a strong mildew scent grows stronger and stronger as I realize we are venturing deeper and deeper.

"Sorry, who are you?"

The doctor senses my curiosity and stops. It's that one second of hesitancy that tells me all I need to know. He's pivoted faster than I reacted, and slammed a fist against my jaw. I snatch his hand as he pulls back though, and twist with all of my might. Even in the shitty light, I see his nametag is stolen, probably from a man he's already killed. Doctors wear black, I remember quickly. His tag is from a nurse.

With my right hand occupied, I'm stuck using my left, which is considerably less powerful, but I manage to extract my hunting knife from my waistline.

"Who are you?" I've tackled him to the ground, and have him pinned beneath me. The knife is position on his neck, so that if he moves, he dies. His dark eyes are alight with fear, but a resiliency is present in them as he laughs.

"You'll kill me before I tell you."

I press the knife harder, so that blood begins to bead and he's more aware of its presence. "I've got all day."

He doesn't take me seriously; his cackling continues. "I'm not the only one. There are more of us. Kill me. I'm just a number."

My gun is out now, trained on his forehead. He's not about to cooperate, but I know he isn't planning on dying. "Talk. Is it Lennox?"

Panic dances across his features and he's breathing heavily. "Yes. Yes it is."

I've pulled the trigger before he can take another breath. Hot blood sprays onto my face and arms. Thankfully the gun has one of Pine's newest silencers on it, and the ricochet is non-existent. There's no other identification on him, nothing but the stolen clothing. I leave the tag on the body, it'll be more suspicious if they find it somewhere else or my prints are on it. There is a change of clothes I keep in my game bag in a small compartment; jeans and a black shirt, which is fine for the weather. I change out of my bloody clothing and toss it onto the spy's body. My bag follows and soon all I have is my knife, my gun and a lighter I keep in the bag.

I remember the blood on my face and arms before I torch the body, and wipe it off with a torn piece of the man's scrubs. It should bother me that I just killed a man in cold blood, but it doesn't. Nothing about the way his forehead has been torn apart by my bullet, or the way the life has fled from his open eyes fazes me.

My hands are completely steady as I set fire to my bag, and it slowly crawls across the body. For good measure, I toss the lighter into the blaze. If they don't find the nurse's body, they'll think this is it. Oddly, I'm hoping for that outcome, because it'll be too difficult to explain to the media about the spy's body if anyone discovers the other one.

It takes a long moment for my eyes to adjust to the summer light outside of the tunnel. Nobody is around, which is wonderful, and so I press eastwards towards our house.

We've known Lennox has spies across the country for some time; the only problem is we don't know who they are or where they are. Spies in a hospital, though? That's dangerous. Even if he was just there for today, or a few days, he's had access to all sorts of personal information. And he said there were more spies… in the hospital?

I've stopped mid-stride. They'll know exactly where I live, when I'm home, when Johanna and Keidan have appointments at the hospital… _everything_.

For the second time in less than an hour, I find myself unable to return home. For all I know I could still have blood smeared over my body. Thankfully, I know every back street in town, and venture down each deserted one until I come to the ISA.

Nobody dares to ask me where I've been when I breeze into the building. In the elevator people avert their gaze from me if I shift my eyes around. Aysun stops me when I hit the entrance of Offices.

Her tight, shiny black bun is all I see for a moment when I scan my handprint. Her computer emits the familiar beep of recognition. "Archer's been looking for you," she says without looking up from a piece of paper. She tears the paper from the notepad and hands it to me. "And here's the list of – holy shit… what happened to you?"

I shake my head. "First one to ask. But you don't want to know."

She squints inquisitively through her glasses. "Forget I asked."

I wave a hand in dismissal as I pass through the body scanner. "Already forgotten."

Aysun remains the only person brave enough to ask as I make my way to Archer's office. I sit in a chair when I enter, waiting for him to end a phone conversation with Melaina.

He's already acknowledged the blood smears, but doesn't say anything once he's disconnected. "Apparently, it's our anniversary today…" he says instead, seeming to be puzzled by the idea. "Why do women care so much about these things?"

I shrug, waiting for him to bring up where I've been.

"Okay, what happened?" Archer's eyes are curious, rather than bored like I expect them to be. "And shower before you go home. You'll never fool Johanna."

"There was a spy at the hospital," I begin. "And I –"

"Where are they?" Archer asks intensely.

"Dead. I shot him." I then proceed to explain what happened; how the man led me into a tunnel that I suspect now was not in the hospital, but led somewhere else. "Said he was with Lennox and so I shot him. That's all I needed to know."

Archer considers me, gawking. "Just like that? _You didn't ask anything else_?"

I shake my head; concerned that Archer will unleash his fury if I speak.

"You should've called someone so we could've brought him in, interrogate him…!"

"And what?" I say loudly, "torture him when he doesn't talk? Torture him so he wishes he were dead?"

"Well, what else are the torture chambers for…?" Archer jokes lightly, attempting to calm me down. An image of Johanna, bound and bloody and broken, slices across my vision. "Okay, not funny. But at least his secrets wouldn't die with him."

"I'm not subjecting anyone to that…" I say firmly.

Archer leans across his desk, closer to me. "Then I'd do it. We're doing this job to put the end to people who tortured Johanna and Annie and Peeta. We're doing it so Keidan and Leos don't grow up surrounded by violence like you were. We're doing _all _of this so someone like the guy who whipped you and ordered people to be hanged for stupid reasons doesn't walk free. You can't let your past experiences allow you to hesitate, or think about these people's wellbeing. We're here to play by the rules that I played by as a peacekeeper and that they are still following."

"I know…" I sigh, rubbing my face. "I know. I just –"

"You want to see the people who tortured Johanna in as much pain as she was in. Right?"

I do. It's horrible, but I would strangle the man that raped her with my bare hands if I could. "Yes."

"Then remember that next time. A bullet through the brain is the easiest way out for these people." Archer is exasperated, probably by my lack of consideration. "Will they find the body where you were?"

"Yeah. Well, the ashes. Hopefully they'll think it's the nurse that they'll figure out is missing. Less questions about another body."

We talk some more about spies, and Archer offers to talk to Paylor about it so that I can go clean up and finally get home.

I shower on the training grounds, scrubbing the blood off until I feel raw. The thought finally begins to sink in; _I killed a person today._

He probably had a wife and children and brothers and sisters. I just tore his family apart, but I don't feel regret, or even sympathy.

The trigger on a gun never felt so perfect under my finger as it did in that moment. It was a reminder that death could come at any time, to anyone; death doesn't discriminate.

Before today, I hadn't ended a human life in four years.

And in four years, never have I felt _so alive._

* * *

><p>Johanna is sleeping on our bed with Keidan when I get home, both looking impossibly serene. Pink sunlight peaks through the curtains framing the windows above the bed, bathing both of them in a warm glow.<p>

This should make me feel happy, shouldn't it? I have a beautiful wife and baby boy, yes Johanna has her flaws, but it makes her more real, and more lovable. There's some sort of damper in my mind that downplays these perfect moments, and reminds me that there are things out there in the world than can ruin what we have.

I'll cherish this though, because I can right now. I can live in this perfect moment even if something bad might happen later. As gently as possible, I slide onto the bed on the opposite side of Keidan. His curious dark eyes open and I scoop him into my arms.

Every cell of this being in my hands was created inside of Johanna. It seems so impossible that he can be a perfect mixture of us both, but it's simple to see. His skin is darkening alike to mine, but his eyes are Johanna's in every sense.

"Why are you so adorable?" I whisper with a smile. Keidan giggles, baby bubbles forming in his mouth. His cheeks are irresistible and I press my lips to them, blowing to create a noise that makes Keidan go wild.

Johanna sighs with the noise and her long lashed eyes flutter open. "You're home?"

I place Keidan on his back, patting the soft down of curls he's inherited from some long lost relative. Johanna turns to me and a piece of hair falls in her face. Instinctively, I reach across the baby and brush it back. She catches my hand fiercely.

"Why are you home so late?"

I just shake my head. "I'm sorry."

My answer seems to pain her and her lids fall shut. "That's not an answer."

Avoiding leaning on Keidan, I press my lips against Johanna's before she can protest anymore. "Don't worry. I want to enjoy this," I whisper against the full plump flesh of her lips.

"Don't hurt Kei," she responds softly, allowing me to kiss her again. I pull way and sweep Keidan up. Johanna sits and kisses his forehead, to which he flails his arms around in joy. I follow suit and place him gently in his crib.

"You've fed him, right?" I ask, whipping off my shirt.

Johanna doesn't reply, but follows my actions with furrowed brows. "You were wearing a different shirt this morning."

"I went hunting and got blood on the shirt. I had a shower at work after I took the meat to the butchers." If I give a short answer to these questions, she gets suspicious. Plus, it's not a lie. I _did_ get blood on the shirt.

"Yeah," she says finally. "I fed him an hour ago."

I'm back on the bed, but Johanna's hardly moved. "What's wrong?"

She shakes her head. "Can we just enjoy each other? Right now. I don't want to have sex. I just want to look at you." Her soft hand is roaming up and down my stomach. "You're so beautiful."

I'll let her do it even though it's not something I would've expected her to say. I watch her smooth skin move as she smiles. I could do this forever - just stare at her lashes, her jaw, her shoulders. I'm enamored by every part of her body. My hand is caressing her hair, which is completely red in the fleeting sunlight.

"I love you," I whisper when her eyebrows crinkle as her fingertips hit the waistband of my jeans.

"I'll love you more, when you're out of these pants."

_There_ is my Johanna.

* * *

><p><strong>Hate it? Sorry if you did.<strong>

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	7. Summer Three: Part Two

**I'm not even going to talk about how long this update has been. I'm so ridiculously sorry. I just... yeah. ****I just hope that some of you have stayed long enough to still want to read this.**

**But! It's here and that's all that matters. It's Gale's POV, full of action and much different than the other chapters. (Gale, Archer and the team assembled are on a mission in the mountains.)**

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* * *

><p>It's the middle of the night, and dead quiet except for the slow breathing of half our group and the low conversations of the rest of us. We're camped against a cliff wall that rises up hundreds of feet, and us four that are awake only have to watch half of the area surrounding us. The forest is almost foreboding with no light, but that could be because I'm unfamiliar with it, whereas Archer beside me seems perfectly at ease.<p>

"Is this like the forests in Twelve?" He asks me after a moment of silence. Terek, a female medic and her brother-in-law, Weston, speak in hushed tones in the background. Knowing that someone else is awake is oddly comforting.

Out of the eight assembled, I recall talking to maybe two before this not including Archer or Paxton. Terek and Weston are District 2 natives and know this terrain nearly as well as Archer does, but not quite as well considering Archer is a former peacekeeper and studied it as part of his training. Paxton knows Grings and Destera from 13; this fact incredibly reassuring since I know their training has been sufficient before the ISA. Batel is from 8, and apparently met me when I was there with Katniss during the rebellion. All I remember from that day is the makeshift hospital being bombed out. And Paylor.

"This one's more compact." I'm unsure of how to describe it since I'm not a fan. "Twelve's better."

"You know," Archer begins, shifting his legs that have been bent up supporting his knees for an hour or two, "this place just has a bad feel to it. I've only been in here once before, when I was in training to be a Peacekeeper."

"Something bad happen?" I ask, unsure of where he's headed with the conversation. It's two days in, but we've hardly had time to speak considering how closely we've been following the Keep – which we've dubbed the rogue Peacekeeper group. We've jumped ahead of them though, since there's only one path for them to take through here, which they've already carved out themselves in the past.

"It was just after you were in Eight. We saw what happened from cameras hidden in the district. Then we were ordered out here to hunt track down rebel groups that had been spotted."

That day in Eight, with the hospital collapse. Now I've thought of it twice in less than two minutes.

"I never really figured out what we were fighting for. I didn't mind my life, I knew what the Capitol was doing was wrong, but it never affected me directly, and so I never gave it a second thought. But the hospital…"

He trails off, looking into the depths of the forest as though the rest of his story is hidden in it. A pair of yellow fox eyes watch us, then turn away. "You know Paylor's oldest kid died in that?"

"Actually?" I ask, taken aback. She didn't like that she had to put everyone under that roof, but didn't seem too upset with the idea. I never would have guessed she had a kid in there.

Archer nods solemnly. "He was eight. I don't know his name. She's only mentioned him once."

"Shit." I shake my head. I probably saw the poor kid that day… Katniss probably spoke to him. Admiration for Paylor grows; she'd been so strong when it went down. She had every reason to lash out, but she remained composed.

"But I watched that roof collapse, and I'd never seen so many innocent people die all at once. It made me mad. But it didn't affect me directly enough to make me do anything about it. I saw you though; only a glimpse, and I realized that you'd do anything to make what happened right. It was common knowledge that Twelve had been bombed out among us. A guy in my troop had been a pilot… anyways, I realized that you'd seen that before, but on a larger scale."

I swallow, not daring to speak. The day still haunts me. The fire. The terror. The screaming. The helplessness, knowing there were thousands I couldn't help.

"When we were out here, I started thinking. Melaina and I, we had a thing, but Peacekeepers were restricted, as you know, and that angered me, to know I had to fight this war, where I sat on the fence, and live through it to see the bad side win in order to marry her." The restrictions he's speaking of are the basis for these Peacekeeping villages that have popped up. People from Two enrolled when they were fifteen, fully trained by twenty. Marriage and children were forbidden until five years of service had been completed. To put that into perspective, Acher wouldn't be allowed to marry Melaina until next year. Still, hundreds disobeyed the rules, fleeing to villages that were forgotten by the watchful eyes of the Capitol, and started families. Archer told us that those who ran were assumed to have been lost in the forest by the leaders, but everyone in the ranks knew the truth. Occasionally, one would be bombed out, but no one knew enough to talk about it. He was imprisoned after the rebellion, but he gave away the information to Paylor, but didn't know where they were located.

"I had this friend, who I grew up with, and I told him when we were tracking down rebels what I thought about the whole thing. He was like my brother. But he didn't hold the same views, or at least he was too petrified to talk about them. I told him I wanted to go to a village, but not one with other Peacekeepers. I wanted to go and take Melaina and marry her. I didn't mean right there and then that I would do it, but he took it as that. Instead of going down with me for being my friend, he told our captain. They saw it as me switching sides, but there was no proof so they shipped me off to the mountain compound where I could be detained and watched. As a precaution, they sent my friend too, but I never so much as looked at the bastard again."

I had known Archer was in the Nut when we destroyed it, but he wasn't in uniform, and ever since I found out he had been a Peacekeeper it puzzled me as to why he wasn't dressed as one that day. "Who was the friend?" I ask, curious if he is still alive.

"Eli Tupper."

All the information I've studied over and over and over for this mission flashes through my mind. Tupper. The name's familiar. "Tupper as in Lennox's right hand man?"

Archer nods, face emotionless. "The very same. We had each other's backs through everything. Then one day, he didn't. If we didn't have such strict orders to not shoot unless someone's lives are threatened, I'd kill him."

Tupper's on the mission too, about a mile behind us. Why both Lennox and Tupper would leave the village doesn't make sense to me considering the latter has stayed behind previously.

"He's the one that shot Katniss, you know," Archer adds, tossing a rock between his hands. "I heard him bragging that he would do it. Went fucking crazy in the mountain. The coward would've done anything to be held in high regard by our superiors."

I see his face on my eyelids as I let them fall. I'll be watching him closely now. I didn't think it possible to dislike some of these men more than I already did, but Katniss falling with the gunshot replays in my head. I thought she was dead. Gone. I thought that was it.

"Sorry," I apologize simply, nudging Archer's prosthetic hand with my knee. I could've killed him that day. I was so terrified that Katniss was dead I would've killed anybody that came as close to her as Archer was.

"If only you'd shot a bit further," Archer says with a chuckle. "If you killed Tupper, I would've joined you right there and then. But yeah, I guess he escaped somehow, and ended up with Lennox."

Lennox is a completely different story. His ranking among the Peacekeeping force was high enough to land him a position in the Capitol. I found out only recently that he was there when we got the victors out, but he was clever enough to not hang around long enough to be executed for allowing such a thing to happen. Naturally, he became the Keep's leader.

It's silent again; I suspect Terek and Weston were listening in on Archer from where they sit. Archer tosses the rock a few feet into the forest and sighs.

"Think we should switch the watch?" He asks.

I nod. Paxton and Destera, the other female with us, take mine and Archer's spots while Grings and Batel take over Terek and Weston's. It's impossible to fall asleep, my mind racing, thinking about what Archer's revealed to me. I've never heard the guy talk for so long without making a crude joke of some sort. Maybe his careless attitude covers up for the betrayal of his best friend; maybe it keeps people far enough away so he doesn't have to worry about it happening again.

A rustle of bushes awakens me. I guess I did fall asleep. It's just before dawn, the sky visible past the canopy of the forest a glowing violet shade. Archer's still asleep. Everyone else's attention is turned to the source of the noise. More than likely, it's a curious animal, like the fox last night. Destera has a pistol in hand though. I see it's unloaded; she has it only to scare whatever it is that's out there. She holds a finger to her lips and points at me to wake up Archer. Does she know something the rest of us don't? Paxton shakes his head, as she steps towards the foliage, but without making a noise he has no power to stop her. I shake Archer and he opens his eyes groggily. He moans but I cover his mouth, and then point towards Destera. All we can do is watch as she disappears, Paxton rising to follow. Archer motions towards the ground as he grabs a rifle, and we lay on our stomachs, prepared to shoot if either Paxton or Destera are harmed. They've both disappeared, and anxiety wells up inside of me. It's just an animal. The only harm that could come to us was supposed to be nature itself. We've taken every precaution to stay a safe distance from the Keep. I look at our tracker then, and see a red dot dangerously close to us. One of our spies in the village managed to attach trackers to each member of the Keep travelling. I show Archer.

"Lise, its one of them," he says lowly into a microphone on his suit. We each have earpieces and hear it, but it's meant for Destera and Paxton. "Take him down. Gag him. No one else is around."

Moments later there's a muffled yelp. The red dot had tried to run the opposite direction, but was stopped.

"Got him." It's Paxton, his breathing ragged.

A blonde man is dragged through the bush, squirming wildly. In the dim morning light it's difficult to make out his features, the blood pouring from his eyebrow doesn't help. Destera's lip is bleeding, but she wipes it away with her sleeve and kicks the man who groans against the gag.

Archer stands up, and I check the tracker again to ensure no one else is around; one dot remains two miles from the other's which haven't moved. Destera and Paxton pull the man to his knees and tilt his head back so Archer can get a better look. Paxton ties up his hands with a thin plastic string that is stronger than any metal, and it draws blood when the man resists. It's just one of Pine's many inventions we've brought along.

"Wash his face. I can't see a thing. Take off his clothes incase there's anything hidden." Archer commands, crossing his arms. Something in my eyes tells me he knows exactly who it is, and from the trace of anger in his words, I think I can hazard a guess as to who it is.

Paxton and Destera pin him while we cut away all of his clothes and he's naked saved for a tight fitting pair of underwear, revealing that nothing could be hidden in them. He has only a knife and a gun. Water is poured over his head so that any microphone he might have is damaged.

My suspicion was correct. It's Eli Tupper, soaking wet and virtually naked before us, trembling with the cold. His eyes don't leave Archer, and Archer stares at him until he looks away.

"Gale," Archer calls me over. I haven't done anything but bury the man's clothes in a pile of leaves, feeling completely useless. "Tie him to that tree over there."

I follow his finger to a tall thin fir tree that rises over a hundred of feet into the sky. It takes me a moment to realize why he's picked that tree among all of the ones surrounding us, but when I notice it, my stomach plummets. A tracker jacker nest hangs about ten feet off the ground. The Capitol never bothered taking them out of this forest after the first rebellion – the forest is crawling in them – and why would they? This forest and mountain range separates the Capitol from the rest of the country, any form of protection would have been welcome.

He's ordered me to do it because I know I'm keener than the others, and know how to avoid getting stung. I light a splint, and grab Tupper by the arm, prepared to drag him. Surprisingly, the man lets me lead him, and his head falls in defeat. I hold the splint over my head and the smoke subdues the muttations. Paxton tosses me the clear string as I blow out the fire and push Tupper to the ground. His willingness to cooperate almost makes me feel bad, but then I remember what he did to Archer, and that he tried to kill Katniss. I have to untie his hands, but somehow I know he won't try to run when I do, and so take my times to tie them uncomfortably behind the tree. My eyes travel upwards as I walk away, ensuring that I placed him under the nest. His blue eyes do as well, and when he notices they light up in panic.

"No!" Tupper says against the gag. He writhes but the tree scrapes his back and the twine digs into his abdomen where I've wrapped it around him.

"Don't move, Eli," Archer says with a grin, "you might anger them."

I haven't the slightest clue as to what Archer wants to do with the man. Leave him here? Never. He'd want to get information like he wanted me to from that spy in the hospital. The idea of torturing the man clouds my thoughts. I've never been one for that. Nobody deserves that. Archer won't torture him, he'll hold the fact that there's a nest of angry deadly wasps above Tupper as torture.

Somehow Tupper shakes the gag from his mouth, but Archer's trained his pistol on where the nest attaches to the tree.

"Archer. Don't." Tupper is panting in fear.

"Gale," Archer says again, ignoring Tupper. This doesn't feel right. None of this. We should just shoot the man in the head and move on. Archer has the final word, though. "You're going to shoot when I tell you."

I have no choice but to pull out my pistol. I don't think I'll be able to do it. This is cruel. "Archer, maybe let one of us interrogate him." I suggest.

"I'm in charge," Archer reminds me coolly. His scarred cheek is threatening even when he's laughing, but now, with his eyes set to kill, it completes the cynical impression he's setting forward. He regards Tupper again. "Don't fucking speak unless I tell you to, you slimy piece of shit."

Our prisoner is terrified. He knows he's going to die a painful death for what he did to Archer. They were eighteen then, though. Immature. It's clear to me at least that he's regretting his past actions.

"Answer me now. Where's the second village?" Archer's voice is more demanding that I've ever heard it.

"Twenty miles west of here. It's in a cave. There are all sorts of weapons, computers. Everything…" His blue eyes are wide. He's complying without hesitation.

"You haven't grown a pair since I last saw you then," Archer laughs to himself. "You'd give away your new family, just like you turned me in."

"I'm not—"

"_Close your fucking mouth_." Archer hisses. I begin to lower my gun.

"Archer, he's trying to help," I tell him cautiously. It evident the man wants to provide us with an advantage. He's giving us the information because he wants to, not because he's a coward.

Predictably, he ignores me. "How'd you find us?"

"I thought I saw someone a few days back. Then I was on watch. I just knew. I wanted to warn you. It's dangerous ahead. You'll be killed." I can tell from his tone that he's telling the truth. Archer's rage is blind, but there's no way to make him see. I've been around enough people who know they're about to die to determine that they don't lie in their last minutes.

"How is it dangerous?"

Tupper shakes his head, thinking quickly. Sweat is beading on his forehead even though the morning's cool. He knows he's going to die no matter what. If he didn't want to help us, he wouldn't give us information. He wants to set things as right as they can be before he dies. "Mines. Outposts so far up in trees you wouldn't notice. I can give you the coordinates of the base. If you go further Archer, you'll die. All of you." His eyes catch mine, and I know he recognizes me. "Archer, I fucked up. I know. I deserve to die. But not like this."

Archer seems to be thinking. "You're life isn't worth much anymore. You'll die however I want you to. Last question. Gale, get your gun back up." His tone is enough to make me do it. The weapon feels like lead in my hand. I can't. I won't. Part of me hopes Tupper will just fall over dead from fright so I don't have to pull my trigger. "How many men are there in total? Both here and the village?"

He doesn't ask the coordinates. We're going to keep going.

Answer slow, Tupper. I don't want to kill you.

"Ummm, two hundred maybe? He's recruiting. But there are thousands of family members. You can't just bomb the place." Tupper's eyes are darting, searching frantically for some way to escape the onslaught of tracker jackers that will kill him. There's no hope.

"I can do whatever the hell I want." Archer tells him. He doesn't look at me as he orders me to shoot. _Why me_? Why is he making me kill this man? He said a few hours ago he would do it if he had the chance. But no… no one gets the satisfaction of directly killing him. The tracker jackers will make it look as if nature had run its course on the man; there will be no evidence of the twine or gag remaining. "Shoot, Gale."

My hand isn't wavering. I begin to pull, pretending its Lennox in front of me. Images of the games course through my head. Glimmer… a balloon from the stings when Katniss set the nest on her. Peeta... wild and deadly from his torture. How many lives has this muttation ruined? What if they hadn't fixed Peeta? The venom from these animals would have driven him to complete irreversible madness. It ruined his life. It made the kid hate-able. It destroyed Katniss to see him like that. I can't give this man to such a fate.

"Fuck it," Archer says. I blink and his gun his out of its holster, and though it looks as though he's fired wildly, I know the bullet will hit its target; Archer's got the best shot with a gun I've ever seen.

We've taken an antidote to the venom so we're at no risk from the stings, I can't look at the hell that is being unleashed on Tupper. The nest crashes over his head, exploding into thousands of buzzing insects, furious at the destruction of their home. I turn and walk away, pushing my gun into my belt. His screams of terror and complete agony are drowned out by the incessant buzz.

Paxton gives me a nod as I bring up my head to look at him. No one but Archer would have killed Eli Tupper.

* * *

><p>No one speaks as we pack up and move forwards. Despite collective protests, Archer tells us that it is safe to move on, and that Tupper was lying. He won't meet my eye, furious that I couldn't follow an order. This will be reported. Paylor won't let me on another mission. She warned against my mental disorder, and that I wasn't emotionally stable enough to do this. It kills me to know that she was right. I let my past and my ghosts catch up with me when it mattered most. Part of me is reveling in the fact that I didn't add another name to my list. I'd have more kills in two weeks than in two years.<p>

Nightfall is approaching when Lennox and his men make camp. They must be wondering what happened to Tupper since they skirted around the area where his body lay. The idea of stumbling upon his disfigured body makes me cringe. We set up watch, Paxton volunteering to let me sleep and take the watch with Archer. I gladly accept, anything but eager to speak to him.

As I cozy up in the sleeping bag, a twig snapping catches my ear. Destera beside me notices. Am I doomed to never sleep? She shakes her head in disbelief.

"You're _fucking_ kidding me," she sighs, loading her gun. The tracker shows that it's not one of the Keep.

"I'll go look," I volunteer, pulling the bag back.

I separate from the camp, pistol in one hand, my left hand on my belt ready to pull my knife. If it's a person, I might get shot. If it's an animal I might get mauled. But I can't risk it being a spy and so I approach like I would when hunting deer.

There's no more movement. I look back and see Destera watching me with observant eyes. Whatever it is knows I'm looking for it. I push the long grass aside as a clearing appears. Nothing is here… I'm standing three feet above the top of the grass and it only dances in the wind. I could venture deeper, but I'd like to sleep, even for an hour.

I move my left foot to turn back when it happens.

There's a horrible impact along my right side, and I'm hurled to the ground. The spiny mulch of needles, twigs and weeds stab into my body and then crush under my weight and whatever is on me. It's heavy, a thousand times heavier than any human could be. My pistol flies out of my grip and disappears into the ocean of grass. My ribs stab and there's the sticky sensation of blood blooming across my clothes.

Claws are on my body, ripping through the only thin protection I have against anything tearing into my skin. I manage to kick whatever is on me, and thankfully my foot lands in a sensitive area, probably near a joint and it reels just long enough for me to move. I can't see around me, the grass shielding anything from my view, and my arm is beyond broken, but I force myself to reach around for the gun. My hand catches it, and I open my mouth to call for help when the beast is descending on me again. I manage to roll at the last second, but the pressure on my wound is paralyzing and I'm less than an inch from where its mighty paws have landed. As I glance up, the molten golden eyes of a cougar meet mine; my hand painfully closes around the barrel of my gun. I stare directly into its beautiful eyes for a moment, all logic flooding from my mind. Am I supposed to look at it? Or am I supposed to back down? Moments ago I could have figured it out, but my brains a mess. _Right_. It should back down. Its sneak attack hasn't worked. It should be confused. Why did it even attack me? I wasn't threatening it in anyway.

Suddenly, it pushes from its hind legs, coat glossy and shimmering in the retreating sunlight. I have less than a second to grab the knife in my belt, my right arms useless as I attempt to flip my gun around, pain coursing through my bones. Somehow I manage it, and as it's dagger like claws stab through the skin of my chest I've pushed the knife into its neck. The cougar rears; releasing a roar more monstrously loud than one I've ever heard before.

It's near to falling on top of me, but I extract my knife as his warm slick blood begins pouring down my arm, and mixes with my own that begins oozing out of my chest.

With my good arm soaked, it slips as I pull myself from where the animal will collapse. My left arm isn't nearly as good a shot as my right, but I reach over and grab my pistol, aiming unsteadily at the cougar's head. I release a shot, and though it was shaky, I've hit my target. I couldn't let it suffer. The hunter inside of me wouldn't have let me be a sadist and watch it die slowly.

The gunshot sends birds out of the trees so that they silhouette as black shapes against the golden horizon in their frenzied flight. My team's already made their way into the clearing, warned by the animal's howl of torture that I was in trouble.

"Fuck," I gasp in agony. That was the stupidest thing I could've done. Now I've alerted the Peacekeepers that we're following them and are responsible for Tupper's disappearance.

It's impossible to muster the strength to sit. I attempt, but my right side feels completely broken from the impact with the animal. I prop myself up on my left arm, and take in the damage done. My clothes are now rags soaking with blood, torn slightly down the chest and completely down the right side. Pain pulses in the center of the claw wounds. Tentatively, I attempt to move my right arm, but the throb of pain tells me that it's dislocated… again.

Despite the pain, I'm incredibly grateful the beast didn't go for my limbs. I can at least heal this back up, but if it had decided to go after my arm, I'd either be dead or matching Archer.

Paxton is the first person to emerge from the rustle of grass that grows closer and closer. He notices the fallen mountain lion first, and his blue eyes grow wide. Then he follows the small train of blood that feeds into the growing pool that I lay in. He bends down and begins tearing at my jacket. I swear loudly as he wrenches the entire things off. I look down at my chest and gawk at the amount of blood pouring from the half an inch deep, inch long puncture wound.

"Mother of..." Paxton says, presses my town shirt against my chest, the right side protesting in pain. "How are you alive?"

I laugh wearily, but the action sends stabbing through my ribs. My body feels like it's on fire. I hold my right side with my left hand though the pressure sends fissures of pain through my ribs. My hand is so slick with the scarlet liquid that if keeps slipping down.

"Karis!" Paxton calls.

Destera and Terek appear above me, eyes wide in shock. Destera shakes her head. "Shit."

Terek takes over pressuring my right ribs and I take to relocating my shoulder. Paxton helps me push it back into place. I let out a grunt of anguish, gasping. I can't count how many times I've dislocated that shoulder, but I know from the numbness that fills it, I've shattered it too, the bone fragments slicing through nerves.

Archer is last to arrive, and I assume the other three are staying at the camp, guns ready. Archer's face has softened from this morning, and as he treads through the two pools of blood that have joined he lets out a hearty laugh. _A fucking laugh of all things_. "What the hell, Gale?"

I close my eyes and let my head fall against the chilled ground

"Of all the people, you get mauled by a cougar," he lets out another disbelieving laugh.

"Your ribs are broken," Terek acknowledges after she's staunched most of the light bleeding along them. "And your right arm is completely shattered.

"Thanks," I say somewhat rudely. "I couldn't feel that."

Archer hands me a canteen of water and I manage a few sips; the discomfort of swallowing it is enormous. Somehow, I'm always incredibly thirsty after I lose too much blood and I want more.

"Jo's going to kill you," Archer chuckles. Who is he? He's completely different from this morning; he doesn't even chastise me about shooting. He pours the rest if the water down my chest to clean the blood off. "If you don't die of blood loss first."

"Can you stand?" Paxton asks.

I exhale loudly, the motion causing more slicing in my ribs. "I can hardly fucking breathe."

"Try," Archer says dismissively. Our party protests, but he practically lifts me into a standing position, forgetting that the bones in my right arm have been crushed into pieces. The blood rushes from my head and my knees buckle. Vomit threatens as I collapse.

"He was mauled five minutes ago," Destera argues as Paxton and Arcger ease me down. "Let him breathe for a minute."

I shake my head. Breathing hurts too much. The nausea hasn't left and before they've released me, I turn and wretch tonight's dinner. I can't stop. The pain of my ribs as I gag only arouses more vomit. Eventually acid sears my throat and mouth. I could really use that water Archer just dumped on me.

Terek is digging in small bag and extracts a syringe. I forgot she's a medic. The pointed metal pushes into a dose of morphling and she grabs my wrist. I'm so used to some sort of painkiller being injected into my arm I hardly notice. I don't know how, but a minute later she shoos Paxton away and rolls me onto my left. There's slicing and crunching, and I know she's setting my ribs. I can't feel a thing. I'm in bliss.

On my side, I watch as Archer stands and goes to the cougar. Kneeling, he moves its head around, his hand dwarfed by the size of the creature. He pulls up the animal's lips, which hide teeth that I begin to imagine are dripping with my blood.

"I'm so impressed that you're not dead."

The morphling is working its magic, and is fogging my thoughts. "I've been mauled before," I respond as if experience with such events factor into why I'm still breathing.

Archer just grins because I'm slurring. "I don't think you've even been mauled by a cougar though."

And then the world slips away into a vast darkness.

* * *

><p><strong>PLEASE, please, please, please let me know what you think. Reviews help me to keep going. I don't care if you didn't like it or what, just take a bit of time to click that little button underneath and review. Thank you guys for continuing to read!<strong>

**PS. I just put up a one shot called "Make Your Way Back Home Again", so if you're interested, check it out. **


	8. Summer Three: Part Three

**Keeping it short and sweet: new chapter, quick update, thanks so much for the reviews, favourites and alerts!**

**Couldn't say when I'll get the next one up though, semester two is about to start up. **

**Gale's POV**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

><p>There are voices, one louder and more domineering than the others. I force my eyes open, lids heavy with sleep. My body begins aching with the small motion, and I attempt to gather my bearings.<p>

"Ahh, look, he's awake." It's Paylor's voice. I let my eyes fall shut. _I'm asleep. _The other voices stop and there's shuffling of feet. "Hawthorne, I know you're conscious."

I attempt to open them again, but the room is too bright. Instinctively, I raise my right arm to shield my eyes, but it doesn't move. My mind is sluggish. _What happened?_ I'm so used to being in hospitals, and always experience these cluttered moments. I moan. That's all I can manage.

"Ribs hurt?"

As a matter of fact they do. As soon as she mentions them, my chest feels compressed and bruised. I nod against the soft pillow under my head. My body feels like a million pounds. There's the cool sensation of morphling in my left arm and I move it an inch. Why isn't it dulling the pain?

I hear Paylor pull up a chair on my right side. My right eye squints open. She's watching me. I remember something… her kid, killed in Eight four years ago. More memories then… Tupper, the tracker jackers, the cougar…

There's no way that thing was natural; I hadn't provoked it in anyway. It targeted me. Tupper had warned us it was dangerous out there… was it some sort of muttation made to keep intruders out?

"Close the curtains," I mumble, trying one more time to pry open my eyes. Paylor looks behind her.

"They are closed."

"Fucking bright…" the words that come out of my chapped lips don't sound like my own. "Where's Jo?"

Paylor doesn't reply for a while. "Cooling off."

"How mad is she?"

Again, hesitation. "Do you remember her first games?"

I can't remember much right now, let alone something that happened years ago. I've watched them twice since we've been married, both times when she's been asleep. I try to think of a specific point when she was mad, but the entire time she was nothing short of malicious.

"No."

"When she was ganged up on by the Careers, and they started…"

She doesn't have to go further. I remember now. They were saying disgusting things, but fortunately they had entirely underestimated her and she killed two before they could touch her. The fury coursing through her was obvious, and so extreme I doubted I would ever see it again. Apparently I was wrong.

"She's going to kill me," I sigh, repeating Archer's joke.

"Let's just say when she comes back you should be ready. This whole thing could be laughable considering _you _of all people were mauled…" she trails off as though expecting me to say something. What can I say? That I'm sorry a massive beast jumped me? That hardly seems fair.

"That thing had to be a muttation," I explain quietly. Too much talking equals too much discomfort. "I didn't even see it and it still attacked me. Tupper said…" Then I realize Archer might've kept the killing a secret.

"Archer told me about that. And Paxton. Surprisingly, Archer didn't seem to lie about anything." Her voice wavers and I know she's attempting to keep it composed. "You know I have to ask you as well, but I'll wait until you're more alert in a few days. Archer won't be allowed to visit you, just as a precaution that he feeds you some story."

Before whenever the attack was, I would never second-guess a report Archer gives, but now, after what he was asking of me, I'm beginning to second-guess anything he's ever done. "He went insane," I say quietly. "I've never seen him so… so…"

"So cruel? Yes, me neither, but then again that's what he had been trained to do for a good portion of his life. You can't expect to beat it all out of him." She sighs heavily, and it's clear that she's beyond exhausted with all the entertainment our team has provided her with. "I don't even know what to do with you two."

At last, I'm able to open both eyes without them watering form the blinding whiteness of the room. I look at my arm and see it's strapped to the table, numerous tubes entering it from the wall. My chest is bare except for a few scars and bandages on the side, but thankfully I feel pants covering my lower half. "Wouldn't have said this before, but Archer's more of a problem than I am."

Paylor's head falls into her hands in frustration. "I know, I know. Technically, he didn't break any rules so I can't punish him, but we can't have him going around killing people for revenge for some past misadventure. And _you_, you did well not to shoot the nest, but if there comes a time where you have to shoot, and you can't, that's just as serious an issue." Her intuitive eyes rest on me as I watch her. "Somehow, I feel that something other than free will stopped you from pulling that trigger."

I swallow because it's true; what she's warned about my mental instability is true. It wasn't so much that I decided not to pull the trigger; it felt physically impossible to do so.

"You don't have to do anything with us," I reply with some thought. "You act like you're responsible for anything that goes wrong, but we're big boys. We're responsible for what _we_ do."

A humorless laugh escapes her lips and she shakes her head. _Is she crying?_ After the few moments, her head comes up but it's free of tears. "You're better than he is believe me, but if you two died, I'd be left with a load of agents who are good, but not good enough to take charge. Paxton's the closest thing I've got to you and Archer, but in intuition alone you surpass both of them."

"Listen," I say because I hate seeing anyone cry, let alone the President. "I'm not dying. Hell, you'd never let me leave the office if it didn't defeat the entire purpose of my job."

"Do you know how close to dying you were?" She asks with weary eyes. Obviously I don't, so I wait for her to continue. "_Ten minutes. _If you had bled for ten more minutes you'd be gone. Your broken ribs hit all the wrong places and your whole abdominal cavity was bleeding. I'm hardly concerned that we had to call the whole thing off to get you somewhere to airlift you out. We found the hideout, and they knew we were on their track before, now they just know it even better. But if you had died… everything we had put so much time and effort into would be pointless."

When I was knocked out I didn't feel close to dying at all. I'd felt closer to death when I'd been shot in the Capitol, but maybe that's because it was impossible not to acknowledge the internal damage three bullets managed to create. "And Johanna was mad? When I was dying?"

It's stupid that I should be concerned with Johanna with the apparent peril I faced, but I've been on death's doorstep so many times it hardly phases me.

"I've decided I won't strangle you."

Johanna.

* * *

><p>Normally, girls and woman would cry by their husband's bedside if he had nearly died. Johanna is anything but normal, and I don't know why it's shocked me so much that she wears a scowl almost the entire time she visits me. Apparently she's been cooling down for a day. <em>A whole fucking day<em>. Which means I've been out for two since they've done surgery on my ribs and my arm. I'm scheduled for another surgery tomorrow, and not permitted to leave the room, but naturally, Johanna takes that as meaning I must leave.

"It's only painkiller," she says as she rips the tubes from my arms. Then there's the problem of my arm actually being strapped to the bed. "Fuck, Gale, why'd you have to go and get mauled by a cougar?"

"Give me a break," I joke lightly. "I practically fought it off." It's ridiculous how much hassle I've received for something I could never have prevented.

Her fingers are steady as they dance over the straps, unsure of what do to. The assuredness of her actions tells me that she's not upset at the fact I was hurt, more at the fact of how inconvenient it is.

"I give up." She says, ignoring me, throwing her hands up, frustrated. "It's your own fault you're strapped to this goddamned bed." Not being a doctor, but a past morphling addict, she manages to stab the needles back into their respective holes.

My good hand reaches across. "Jo, sit. Breathe."

I know instantly it's a mistake, her dark eyes burn with irritation. "_Breathe_? I think you're the one who needs to breathe, Gale. Breathe and think before you go running off into the woods without so much as a goodbye. Think before you knock me up next time, are you going to be dying months later? If so, don't stick your—" She has to take a deep breath between her screeches and then gives up. "Shut up."

I'm so amused at this show of emotion that a hearty chuckle rumbles inside of me. More follow and I can't stop, and though Johanna's putting every ounce of her being into appearing livid, her full lips crack open with a tiny grin.

"What were you saying?"

"Stop sticking your porker where it doesn't need to be." Johanna says this seriously, but the reality of the situation strikes her and she releases out a few giggles.

"Apologize," I say like I would've said to Posy when she did something bad. My wife shakes her head defiantly.

"Couldn't pay me to," she smirks, head craning down to mine. My left hand pulls her neck down to my level and I press my lips to hers as they part. A kiss is as much an apology as I need, and we both make it last.

"Sorry we fought before I left." I whisper against her lips. She nibbles at my lower lips, shaking her head. Then she's holding both sides of my face and pushes into the kisses with more enthusiasm than I expected.

"Just…" she begins, panting as I kiss along her jawline. "Just do don't this again, okay?"

"Okay." I'm reminded of the promise I made her, the one to never leave her. It's impossible to say if she's mad about that, or just mad in general, but I broke it. I shredded it apart when I walked out of the house, my voice still lingering angrily in the air. What we were arguing about is difficult to recall, but we never said goodbye. If I had died, what Johanna would be going through right now…

But I didn't die. I don't have to feel guilty. Johanna's pulled away and positions herself on the edge of my bed

"I'll bring in Keidan tomorrow," she says, looking around the sterile white room. This hospital is not nearly as hostile as the one in the Capitol, but it must be some sort of protocol to make everything as brilliantly white as possible. "After the other surgery."

I hate surgeries. Only because they put you under, and you never know when you'll wake up again. Or if you will. The only doctor I've ever trusted was Mrs. Everdeen. They didn't find me for hours after the shooting in the Capitol, and I was so close to death and delusional, I wouldn't let anyone touch me. When I woke up, surrounded by strange machines, not knowing if the doctors were going to end my life or save it, the initial anxiety of being completely vulnerable began.

"It's a good thing we're filthy rich now," Johanna says idly. "Because someone's going to have to pay for all theses surgeries and doctors and medicine."

The amount of money I make causes us to be more than uncomfortable. The fact that I've gone from one of the poorest low lives in the country to one of the wealthiest is enough to make anyone squirm. Johanna knows how much I despise talking about money. She loves it; all the dresses she can buy and the shoes and baby clothes. I've seen her stowing away girl baby clothes once, and I've considered never having sex with her again just to stop her from buying for children that don't exist. Obviously, any resolve I had on that matter faded when night came around.

"How long am I supposed to stay?" I ask.

The fact that Johanna begins shaking her head before speaking tells me all I need to know. "A week. Then no handling weapons for a few weeks to make sure everything's set." A grimace spreads across her face as she turns back to me and pats my hand in joking affection. "Can't wait to se how this plays out."

A week in here. Alright, well that's not horrible; I should've expected it really. But no weapons for a _few _weeks… I'll probably sneak down to the armory anyways, but there's a risk of handling them carelessly and messing up my ribs, or destroying my arm again. After this mishap, Paylor will surely have plans to keep me in the office, or even at home. Suddenly, I understand how Johanna feels. On the outside, kept inside in the house day after day, knowing there's some form of action that she could be part.

"Maybe I'll stay home," I decide wistfully. "Help out with Kei, give you a break."

Johanna laughs lightly, grabbing my good hand. "You won't last a day."

My eyebrows shoot up. A challenge. Neither of us can _ever_ resist a challenge. "Bet I can last a week."

"You think you can handle a housewife's work for a week, _honey_?" Her voice has reduced to a purr, and taken on its usual sarcastic tone. We've never given each other pet names… it's on.

Half of my childhood was taking care of babies, washing dishes, ensuring everything in the house was under control. "I know it."

Johanna's head throws back in laughter and she releases my hand, standing. "You're going to regret this when you're not high on morphling."

"I'm not high," I object. Then Johanna's at the door that has slid open, sensing her body. "My ribs hurt."

Her hand rests on the doorframe as she exits. I think at first that she's leaving without saying anything, but her head whips around at the last second. "Baby, that's just the pain the morphling can't ward off."

Johanna's right. It pains to me admit it, _literally_ pains me. A day after the last surgery on my arm, Paylor's requested to take me to some room on a different floor of the hospital that looks like some sort of conference room doctors must use. My arm's in a sling since I can at least bend it, but the extreme throbbing in my ribcage causes me to be forced into a wheelchair. They tried to give me more morphling, but I just yanked the tubes out as Johanna had done, eager to stop relying on the substance.

Paylor asks for a pen and paper and begins questioning me about the mission. My mind isn't foggy from the morphling anymore, but my blood pounds in my ears due to the discomfort of moving. I have to ask more than once for Paylor to repeat herself, and it takes me a few tries to get some sentences out.

"He told me something," I say midway through retelling about happened in the last minutes of Tupper's life. "Archer did."

Paylor looks up from her paper, the pen stops flitting across the page. She looks so much older than she did that day in Eight; I suspected she was about thirty. Which was a good guess because now she's thirty-six. But the stress lines around her face make me think she's going on forty-seven. "He tends to do that."

It takes a moment to figure out what I was going to say, because the pains distracted me from my thoughts again. "Your son. The eldest. He died when they bombed the hospital…"

She nods slightly, just staring at me.

"You were so composed – " I begin.

"He was dying. There was no chance he'd have lived. Plus I had a whole district and three other healthy children to protect." Paylor's voice is quiet, with only about half the vigor it usually holds. "You probably think that's sick and twisted, but I couldn't let the inevitable death of my child stop me from doing what I had to."

I shouldn't ask, but I can't stop myself. "What happened?"

Her eyes wander back to the paper, but the pen is placed gently on it. "This has nothing to do with what we're supposed to be doing, but I'll humor you." The words aren't meant to be venomous, but they are. She can't stop herself from it. "It was stupid I realized later, but we were holding children in large groups in safe houses, and split up siblings so that if one group died, a family might not lose all their kids. Herding them around in large groups was so ridiculous; I can't imagine what possessed us to do that. I wasn't there, but someone reported to me that all the kids in that group were dead or dying. Before you and Katniss came, I saw him for a brief second and there was a massive piece of metal through him. If they took it out, he died. If they left it in, he died. He was hysterical, but I managed to calm him down, and promised to be back in a bit. Of course, that wasn't possible."

She's swallowing, but like that day, there's no chance of tears. "It's better that he went like that, I told myself. That way he wasn't suffering anymore. I didn't have to lie and say it would be okay, that he would be fine though he wasn't going to make it to the next day."

I'm not shocked that the Capitol targeted a group of kids in Eight. That wasn't anything below them, but it's exactly the trap I had planned out. Target the innocent; bring more people to the scene to end their lives seconds later. The ache filling my mind has nothing to do with my injuries now.

"I'm sorry," Paylor says, her voice just above a whisper, realizing the similarity between the Capitol's treachery and mine.

"Don't be," I say equally quiet. "I'm sorry about your son."

"When you asked if there was something else we could do with the wounded," she recalls, "I was wishing there was, because I knew it'd be targeted in the next raid. If I were the Capitol I'd target it too. Even as a mother."

That's the difference between Paylor, Archer, me and all the other agents involved in the ISA. Really, I think us three would go to any extremes to win a battle.

"Maybe that's what Archer was thinking," I say thoughtfully. "Winning at all costs. Killing Tupper when the opportunity presented itself."

Paylor sighs and the pen is back in her grip. "Yes, but even so, to kill him in a such a manner. You wouldn't have done it."

"I might've," I say, thinking hard about it. "Just say it was one of the guys who bombed Twelve, who nearly destroyed everything I had. Who's to say I wouldn't have given him the most painful end possible."

"That's not going to help your case in the future," Paylor informs me sardonically. Her expression tells me to continue retelling the events leading up to my mauling. The actual attack itself it still kind of blurred, but I can remember than there were no signs of the cougar anywhere in the open meadow. I didn't even see it until it was right above me and it had already thrown me to the ground.

"You think it was a mutt?" she clarifies after I've said it a few times. Maybe it came out jumbled, though it sounded fine in my head.

"Had to be. Wild animals don't just _attack_. Especially not with all those people nearby. Tupper said the Keep had some sort of security perimeter. That must've been the beginning of it."

She's scribbling quickly, underlining "mutt" a few too many times. "If they can create animals in that hideout…" she says, shaking her head. The possibilities are endless of what they could be doing in that cave. "We have to find a way of getting in there."

"They know we're on their trail," I say. "I doubt if we can send anyone undercover again."

Paylor leans back in her chair, exhaling loudly. "You're right. This was going to come sooner or later, but I hadn't planned on it so soon. We have to figure out a way to act before they do."

"All I can think of is bombing them out, but that's not going to help anyone."

"We'll call a meeting and bring everyone up to date. Hopefully with everyone together we'll be able to figure something out." On that hollow, helpless note, we move out and I'm back in the hospital room.

I do a lot of thinking when I'm in these sterile, void rooms. There's nothing else to do, and they never bothered to hook my morphling back up so I'm more awake than ever. Though it hurts to pace, I don't stop myself from doing it.

Whatever this cave hideout they have is, it must be similar to the Nut. One or two entrances maybe; if they're smart there will be three or four. Trapping them inside could be an option, but its risky especially if we don't have the place properly mapped out. We really don't want to destroy it; we just want to infiltrate it.

I don't know how long I follow my own footsteps around the room, my thoughts running in circles like my feet. Every idea that comes to mind is more ridiculous than the last. Send in wild animals. Dress as animals. Maybe if we just show up, they'll be so shocked they won't know what to do. But they have that security perimeter. No one unauthorized would get past.

Eventually, I just fall back into the stiff bed and sleep.

* * *

><p>Crossing the threshold into my own house in the most joyous feeling in the world. My arm is stiff but fully healed somehow, and I just can't exert myself too much or something horrible will happen to my organs.<p>

I don't think I've ever spent a whole week at home with Johanna and Keidan since he was born. Though I've always been something of a father figure in my family, I've never focused on being a _father _father. I've rolled with the punches, taken what life has thrown at me, but adjusting of my own free will is an entirely new venture.

I've woken up early everyday of my life. It's not even early for me anymore; I've been waking up at five in the morning since I was fourteen. I'd hunt for an hour, be home by seven and then help my mother get the kids ready for school.

So when I wake up at five, disoriented at first from waking up in my own bed, feeling Johanna's body next to mine, I begin to change, prepared to go into the forest and check a few snares. The pain in my right side is the only thing that stops me from pulling on a shirt. The bet I've made with Johanna stops me from walking out to the forest anyways. The pale morning light shows that it's barely after five, and I haven't the slightest clue as to when Johanna wakes up, and so I slip back under the covers.

Johanna shifts slightly, but only her hand slides off the pillow into my spot. I pull the covers up to my shoulders and brush a strand of hair from Johanna's face, tucking it gently behind her ear. Some nights she's anything but peaceful when she sleeps, but I've never seen her more serene than at this time in the morning when the nightmares have passed.

"You decided to stay." Her lips move softly, and I think for a moment that I've imagined it. The long lashes of her eyes still rest lightly on her cheekbones and tell me she's not fully conscious. My hand goes to her cheek, and I stroke it gently.

"Wouldn't dream of leaving," I whisper, but I'm not sure if she hears it.

My internal clock refuses to let me sleep despite my best attempts. It sounds horrible, but at last Keidan begins bawling and I have an excuse to move around. His crib is upstairs with us, close to the far window at the opposite end of the room, which looks out into a forested area. At first, I don't expect him to stop for me, but he does. His blue eyes are greyer than they were when he was first born, and I know he's going to have mine. I easily hold him in my left arm and bounce up and down. As his crying dies down I turn to the open window, the soft pink of the morning has transformed into a pastel orange, and Keidan seems taken with the colours. He claps and giggles excitedly.

"Look," I say, pointing to dark forest. The mystery it holds doesn't faze Keidan and his eyes grow bigger in admiration, and he tries leaning out of my hands. I take a step closer and his chubby hands smack against the window, the sound reverberating up and down the wall. "One day, when you're bigger we'll go out there and get tasty food."

Keidan stares out the window, his mouth forming an 'o' in awe. Then he looks back at me and his lips break into the kind of smile that melts my heart. To think he's mine – that he's not my mother's child who I'm looking after as a brother – and that he'll be mine for as long as I live startles me each time I contemplate it. I'd always dreaded the future my children would have to live in, but now it doesn't seem to bad. Keidan's the greatest gift I've ever gotten, from the few dark curls on top of his head, to his tiny baby toes, I couldn't have asked for anything more.

"How about we make your mother a surprise breakfast?" I ask him, turning from the trees that have entranced my son. He wiggles in my grasp restlessly and suddenly becomes captivated by my thumb that's pressed against his stomach.

"He's the hungry one, brainless," Johanna says from the bed. That's something else I can hardly believe sometimes; that I've married the famed Johanna Mason. My gaze leaves Keidan and I see that she's sitting up, stretching her arms above her head. "Or did you forget that he was crying?" But she's sliding out of bed and crossing the room to Keidan and me. Our baby ends his struggle against my thumb as Johanna grows closer and his lower lip begins trembling.

"You silly baby, don't cry. I'm going to feed you," Johanna says, ignoring me as she pulls Keidan up and out of my hold. Keidan's face is contorted in distress, but Johanna rubs his back gently, hushing in his ear. Then as if remembering I'm in the room, she stands on her tiptoes and plants a chaste kiss on my lips. "Bet's still on for _one_ day."

I hear Kuma jumping excitedly as Johanna's feet hit the bottom of the stairs. Somehow it seems wrong for me to go downstairs; I sense like this is just a mother and child moment, and any father interaction will be frowned upon. I haven't hunted, but it's probably not ideal in my condition and it's not as though we depend on wild animals as a food source right now. A shower is probably the best bet, since Johanna will be done feeding him by the time I'm finished.

"There's no soap left in the shower!" She calls as though reading my thoughts. Of course there isn't soap. Why would there be? It's not like she can replenish it or anything…

One of the cupboards holds all the extra stuff, and as I pull out a bar of soap, a stack of a few folded papers flutters out. I check over my shoulder to ensure Johanna hasn't crept up behind me, and it's all some sort of trap so that she can yell at me for snooping.

My fingers are nimble as they unfold the papers. It seems baby clothes are the only thing Johanna's kept hidden from me. There are about six, all handwritten, some stained with water, others crisp as anything. Letters. My heart's racing which must not be good for me cause my ribs are aching again. The fact that they aren't meant for my eyes occurs to me, but doesn't stop as I begin scanning the first. It's dated from days before the team set out into the wilderness. There doesn't seem to be any particular chronological pattern between the dates written. Some are weeks, others months. They're all signed by the same person; I know who it is before I decipher the scrawl.

Swiftly, I fold them back up and shove them into the pockets of a pair of pants I'll put on. This wasn't supposed to happen. This mess Archer and I and Paylor are entangled in wasn't supposed to reach Johanna. I could lash out, and ask why she hasn't told me about them, but that's what these are about, Johanna not telling anyone or else paying the consequences. But I've found them, and maybe he knows, but I doubt it. Johanna must've placed them here, knowing I'd find them. I'll lie and say I'm setting up snares later, just incase she didn't intend on my discovering them. Somehow I doubt that is the case. Rather than going to the forest, I'll go into the office and show Archer and Paylor.

_I can't believe this_. He knows where I live and about Johanna and Keidan. He has the audacity to threaten them. But why? For what? What could he possibly gain?

I'll go now. It's impossible to wait another moment. I tell Johanna as brightly as I can manage that I'm going to set some snares before I shower. Surely she suspects that I've found the letters, but she's watching Keidan with such adoration that she waves me off impatiently. Maybe the house is wired. He has gotten these to her somehow and the idea of surveillance on our home doesn't seem so far-fetched. Whatever the case is, I don't want to risk talking to her about them here.

No one fails to express their shock as I enter the ISA building, but I ignore every word asking about how I am, every look that I receive. The letters are burning in my pocket, I feel sick. Maybe this is exerting myself, because I'm suddenly dizzy. Aysun calls after me, apologizing for not having any of my papers ready since she wasn't expecting me. My feet take my to Paylor's office, because I'm still slightly upset with Archer for the position her put me in last week. Nothing makes sense for a moment, my body disjointed from my mind, but I'm inside and Paylor is gawking as me. She begins demanding to know why I'm here.

"It's Johanna. No. It's Lennox." I can't get the words out properly. My hands tear at my hair as the panic gains strength and tries to force it's way from my body. I want to scream. The letters are on Paylor's desk, but I don't remember extracting them from my pocket. Edges of my vision are blackening, but I will away the attack, or whatever the fuck they are. At last, when I've given up on trying to explain the situation, I fall into a chair across the desk from Paylor. Her face shows me that she's irritated, but it falls into disbelief as her eyes dart across the papers.

"How would he have gotten these to her?" She asks quietly.

I shake my head. How he's managed to reach her hasn't crossed my mind, and it only adds more confusion to the chaos raging in my mind. There's only one thought that processes completely; that I've gripped, but can't let go of.

"I mean I know Lennox hates you; but enough to murder Johanna and Keidan to get to you?" Paylor sits in her chair carefully. "We've known it all along, but this – this settles it."

"Settles what?" Archer is suddenly in the room, his scarred face stiff with concern. He walks up next to me and glances down. "Saw you fly in here, knew something was up. What's happening?"

Paylor holds up the letters, and covers her eyes as though making eye contact with anything will cause extreme pain. "Lennox wants to kill Johanna and Keidan. If we don't kill him…"

Ever the tactful one, Archer rubs his hands together in anticipation. "Assassination mission?"

My mind is clearing, and reality strikes me. I'll kill him. I'd do it with my bare hands. Paylor groans outwardly, but finally catches my eyes and then Archers. This is what we've been waiting for. Going in for the kill. The strain in her eyes tells us it pains her to allow such a thing, but that there's no other option.

"You each get thirty agents. Not an assassination, Archer. A raid."

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><p><strong>Love it? Hate it? Review it?<strong>

**Ps all those with alerts, I'd love to hear what you think about the story! surely if you can click the alerts button, you can leave one little review.**


	9. Summer Three: Part Four

**Another long wait. I know, I know. I'm sorry.**

**But, on the bright side, I went to the midnight release of the Hunger Games yesterday, and died a little because of how amazing it was. So I woke up this morning and decided to finish this chapter, which sat half written on my computer since January. **

**I know exactly what I want to happen in the next chapter, it's just a matter of writing it, but hopefully I can get it up soon.**

**Anyways. That's enough. **

**Here's the next chapter. It's a litter bit of a filler, but with more f bombs than usual, so hey, maybe its worth giving a shot. **

**Read, review, but most importantly...**

**ENJOY!**

* * *

><p>I don't really think Gale will fully overlook the fact that we were being threatened. Even now, walking through the populated town square, his grip on my hand is painfully tight, out of protection rather than affection. I knew I had to get him to read the letters, it was getting out of hand, but since he's paranoid they've managed to bug the whole town, we only talk about it in the ISA building.<p>

I should be happy he knows now, but somehow, it's increased my paranoia as well, but more for him than Keidan and I. The threats seemed empty enough, but every morning that Gale goes hunting, I nearly go mad fearing that he's been shot. It's been a month, and while the terror ebbs a little bit everyday, his only increases. Maybe it's because they're planning something big to get this Lennox guy. How do I know they're doing this?

Because _I've been allowed into the ISA._ The reasons behind it are not ideal, but getting in is getting in, and I'm not one to complain about access to the facility with the highest security regulations in the country. Okay, well I can only go where they have offices, but I know there's floors with all sorts of different shooting ranges, armories etcetera, etcetera.

"Johanna?" I blink and Gale's looking down at me, grey eyes questioning.

"What?"

"I asked if we need bread," he says irritably. The expression scrawled across his features tells me that he's wondering what's wrong with me, but I'm not about to tell him I was daydreaming about what sort of guns they might have in his building.

"Maybe," I reply, shrugging. We're standing in front of the bakery, which has a line of about twenty people stretching onto the cobbled stone of the square. Turning as much as Gale's grip on my hand allows me, I spot a store opposite to the bakery, where two people are leaving with a small package, smiling excitedly. "I'm going to go over there while you wait."

Since Melaina offered to look after Keidan this afternoon, I reckoned Gale might let me out of his sight for a moment, considering our child isn't in any danger if I wander off. He's turned too, but shakes his head. "Not happening."

"Holy fuck," I breathe, a few people passing by shoot me disapproving glares. "If you haven't forgotten, I'm older than you. I think I can wander across the square by myself."

Gale's face is stoic, and his thumb rubs gently across the back of the hand he's holding. I can't read anything in his expression.

"And we've established that they want to kill you more than me."

This strikes something. Eyebrows furrowing, his eyes fall on my face, and then down my body. _What the hell is he doing?_ Then he looks out at the crowds of people. I must be getting fat, because he never gives me a once over with such an expression. Usually, he's practically drooling with desire.

But then I think about it. Any thoughts of looking at jewelry rush from my mind, and I consider the small dark blue summer dress I'm wearing, and wonder if it is indeed accentuating my body like I thought it was.

Here's the thing about having a baby in February in District 2; even after you've worked off all the extra weight from carrying around a child in your abdomen for nine months _you don't get to show off your body until summer._ For the first three months, I was too exhausted to wear anything but baggy sweaters and baggy pants and I barely even brushed my hair. And it was blizzarding every other day, some days it was impossible to get out of the house. Somehow, I managed to return to my former petite state before I had Keidan, and as I slowly began paying more attention to my fashion choices again, the need to show my body off to the world had become this idea that nagged at my mind for months. It's a little bit conceited, but I don't share these thoughts with anyone. So here I am, wearing a dress with a tight fitting bodice that falls just above my knees. I realize in horror that my ankles are probably still fat; how can anyone possible burn off ankle fat? And maybe I have a muffin top I never noticed.

What the _fuck_ have I done? There's a massive probability that I look a thousand times worse than I think I do.

"What?" I sneer, upset that his gaze alone has made such horrible thoughts run through my mind.

"Nothing." Then he steps into line for the bakery, ultimately deciding that we need bread, while I decide I need to get to climbing trees again or something so that I can be as fit as I used to be.

I allow myself to critique my outfit stealthily. My toes are visible past my stomach, which seems flatter than I've been working myself to believe it was. With my free hand I touch my hair, and its silky smooth, and the possibility that maybe just my hair is greasy vanishes. Casually, my eyes travel to Gale's choice of clothing. He's wearing the pants he went hunting in this morning, _typical_, and a grey long sleeve shirt bunched up to just below his elbows. Its summer, would've it just been easier to wear a t-shirt? It's not even a nice shirt, it has dirt smears along the hemline, and it's so worn that the edges of the sleeves are splitting. The material isn't even thin, it's almost sweater like; pretty soon he's going to have sweat stains everywhere. Okay, compared to Gale, I look amazing.

The line doesn't budge, and I'm thinking maybe we don't need bread; he just doesn't want me looking at jewelry.

"Alright, Mr. Hawthorne," I begin. He doesn't acknowledge that I've spoken. "I'm going to go across the square, because I'm a grown women, with great self defense skills, and because I want to go look at some jewelry."

"Really?" He says sarcastically, regarding me with a bemused grin. "I've never seen these skills."

"Ugh," I groan. "I survived the Hunger Games twice. Of course I have some."

"When you were seventeen," Gale reminds me. "And twenty-three. Plus you don't need anything else."

No. He did not…

He didn't just say that.

I splutter. A problem I have with Gale is that he doesn't like money. We're probably some of the richest people, yet here he is dressed in what looks like an outfit he found buried in some hole in the forest. It probably _was _buried in some hole in the forest. He lets me humor myself with clothes, but only to a point. This dress for example, I convinced him that Melaina's aunt bought it for me way of saying, _"Congratulations! You don't have baby weight anymore!"_ It's the only way I was allowed to keep it.

I'm about to rage, but Gale shakes his head, smiling. "Fine. I have to ask Melaina's aunt something anyways."

He's totally going to interrogate her about the dress.

Melaina and Archer grew up in another town just south of this one; Melaina was raised by her father because her mother died in childbirth. During the rebellion he was killed, fighting on the rebel's side. Her aunt and uncle lived here, running the jewelry store before and after the uprising. To say her family never approved of Archer is an understatement, but then her cousin married his older brother, Ryder.

Archer surely got his determination from his brother, but Ryder reminds me more of Gale with his silent fortitude than of his brother. Their parents died when Archer was eight, which might explain some of the hitches in his personality. While Archer wanted to be a Peacekeeper, Ryder joined the rebels and fought under the command of Lyme.

The union of their daughter to the elder Karis proved that Archer was the only poison in the Karis bloodline, and they've convinced themselves that with the whole family living in such close quarters, Archer's almost as respectable as his brother.

We lose our spot in line, stride to the shop. Halfway there, a red headed man stops Gale, and though he's incredibly familiar and greets me as well, I can't put a name to the face.

"Paylor confirmed it today," the man is saying excitedly. Gale smiles too, but whatever they're speaking of has made him uneasy. "Except we each get twenty."

"Twenty," Gale repeats quietly. "So maybe we should find seconds."

Nodding the man's face turns serious. "I was fine not having my own, but this gives someone else an opportunity to step up. Karis picked Destera, in place of me."

Gale's calculating something in his mind. "Tell Sunny to have a revised list of candidates on my desk for tomorrow."

And then the man is gone. The numbers mean nothing to me. The entire exchange is completely foreign and Gale tells me it's not important when I ask; which instantly tells me that it is indeed _very _important.

A bell jingles merrily as Gale ushers me into the store. For some reason, I love that the place reminds me of the finery I saw in the Capitol. I hated every ridiculous thing to do with the place, but I always admired the modernity and clothing. While I would never dream of wearing anything as elaborate as they did, I'm taken with anything to do with fashion. Nobody in our town dresses like someone from the Capitol, nobody dresses in rags either. Five average people mill about the store, whose brightness is increased by the position of the sun at the moment. Since most of the people living here are involved in the ISA in some way, no one is lacking money to buy things either. Despite the finery presented here, it's still homey and inviting.

"You two just missed Melaina and the boys."

Melaina's aunt is one of the kindest people I've ever met, but she's really quite spacey. It must be a District 2 thing.

"Jo wanted to look around actually," Gale tells her kindly, pushing me almost roughly to a display case on the far end of the room. Opal – coincidence that her name is a gemstone – tells me to look around, and take my time. I wander away, my longing to buy something waning considerably after Gale's serious conversation with the red headed man.

"I haven't seen Keidan in weeks!" Opal is gushing. A quick glance backward shows me that Gale's forgotten about my dress now, and is preoccupied whatever's going on at the ISA. "He's grown so much."

"Yeah," Gale says back, catching me staring at him. My eyes flick away and I focus instead on a ring with a modest amount of diamonds embedded in its golden braid. "He's getting big pretty fast."

"Leos was walking around in here, adorable thing," her voice reaches a whole new level of delight, and I suddenly want to leave. Gale must want to die. "Is Keidan crawling yet?"

"He's getting there," Gale replies. Except that our baby has not showed any signs of crawling, but it'll happen. Soon. The tone in his voice is one only I can detect, and it's evident he wants to escape the conversation.

I glide back over to him, and stand on my tiptoes to reach his cheek. To anyone else it looks like a kiss, but I whisper, "Okay, you win."

"Sorry, Opal," I say sweetly, acknowledging the older woman. "I just remembered I didn't feed our dog today. We really have to go."

Her gently wrinkled cheeks rise into a smile. "Oh don't worry! I will tell Melaina I saw you."

I'm about to tell her there's no need for that, since we're supposed to get Keidan at five, but Gale's arm snakes around my waist and he slides me away. I'm in front of him facing the door. Observers would see this as affectionate, but his sturdy hands force my body forwards, until we're out in the square again.

"Why are you so moody?" I hiss at him. We're walking past the bakery line, which is considerably short. "I thought we needed bread."

"I thought we needed to feed the dog," he retorts.

"So we don't need bread?" I nearly scream.

He shakes his head, and it suddenly dawns on me. The staring at me, at the square. The sudden need to ask Opal something. The man. Paxton.

"You're kidding me," I stop and step away from Gale. Now I shove him with my hands, but he barely moves. "You're away from that place for a day and you _casually_cross paths with Paxton, who immediately fills you in on what you've been missing."

"_That?_" Gale asks. His head spins around as though trying to find someone else whose watching me go mad. "That was _not_ planned."

I scoff and stride away from him. "My balls it wasn't planned." More critical frowns from passersby. Refusing to look back, I continue on my path, which takes me to a street that will lead to the edge of town where we live. Footfalls behind me tell me Gale's following at a safe distance.

We're nearing the house when Gale's hand catches my wrist and he jerks me to a halt.

"You," he says breathlessly even though he hasn't been running. "You need to stop."

He's heavy, but I muster the strength to pull him another five steps onwards. We're six paces from the front door. Frustration overrides my resolve to ignore him and I spin around.

"_I _need to stop?"

A light chuckle escapes his lips. Dammit. His eyes. The sun's captured their steely beauty and I lose myself for a moment. "You are the most ridiculous person I've met." Gale's shaking his head again.

A blink. His eyes are so gorgeous. He's so gorgeous.

Then our lips are together, our tongues together. Powerful arms snare my waist, and he's picked me up off the ground. My arms are wrapped around his warm neck and he's moving to the house. It ends too soon, but I'm still pressed firmly against his body, despite my being on the ground. His back is towards the door, and my face is cupped with the hand that isn't unlocking it. The kissing resumes as we stumble over the threshold of our home.

"It's alright," I say glancing at the clock when we're in, Gale walking backwards holding me tightly. I have to peer around his shoulder and eager mouth to read the clock properly. "It's four-thirty." He doesn't seem remotely concerned with the time.

My arms are still entrapping his neck and his hands are firmly on my hips. His head is craning down, and our kissing resumes, so much so that I'm unaware of what's happening around us. Gale moans against my mouth, craving more than he's getting. Suddenly, I've been spun around and the door slams shut. I open my eyes to realize than one hand has left my hips and forced the door closed, though Gale's lips continue their hunting along my jaw. The tender skin of his mouth leaves delightful tingles in its wake, teasing ghosts of his touch.

I'm unsurprised when his warm soft fingers slide up under either side of the bottom of my dress, leaving burning streaks up and down my thighs. Instinctively, I do the same, but my fingers crawl up the front of his shirt, playing gently in the valleys of his rippling muscles. Gale's hands manage to reach my bra, sliding around to the back and snapping the clasp apart before I can comprehend what's happening. In one fell swoop he's managed to pull my bra from under my dress, and it flies carelessly over his shoulder. I pull back for a moment, panting as thought I've been climbing a mountain. We've only made it a few paces from the front door. Gale doesn't seem to notice my preoccupation and then the tips of his fingers are sneaking back down my body, tantalizingly sliding beneath the waistband of my underwear.

"Down," Gale gasps; breath steaming hot in the crook of my neck below my ear. He's talking about my clothing, not me, and he's taking my thong off and it's fallen to my around my ankles. "What's wrong with you?"

I freeze. "_What?"_ the fire kindling in my stomach sputters and begins dying.

"My fucking clothes…" Gale breathes fervidly. His head has craned down again and his lips are pressing against mine, coaxing them open, stimulating the fire within me again. I don't need to be told twice, and he disengages his hands from me so that I can begin to tug his shirt over his head. I'm too short though, but we're so accomplished in this art that in less than a second the grey garment has join my bra on some unknown section of flooring.

Before I can kiss him again, because if I don't do it soon I'll explode with desire, he's unbuttoned the back of my dress, and slinked me out of it. Then we separate and I step back into him, my eyes fluttering shut in anticipation of a kiss. Again, I'm denied. Gale is just studying me, his grey eyes intense with passion. His arms are crossed across his chest, and a smirk plays on his lips.

"I knew it! I knew I was getting fat – " I begin, suddenly vulnerable under his piercing gaze.

"No," he shakes his head, still smirking slyly. "You're beautiful."

Finally, when I've closed the distance, I get my kiss. Apparently the momentum of my body is enough to make Gale stumble backwards, and hold me tight to his body. I work at the zipper of his pants furiously, and the snap that results could either be them breaking, or me successfully unzipping them. Either way, the fact that his pants are on the floor is an achievement, no matter what the means. I won't be satisfied until he's entirely naked though.

"Boxers," I gasp. "I broke your pants." I'm trying to hint that maybe he should take them off himself before I do anymore damage, but he's too busy leaving a trail of tender kisses down my cheek and neck. The moment I break away from his lips, a low eager groan grows from some animal place deep in his chest. He's stepping out, but I'm clutching his face in my hands, our lips moving together in an ancient dance.

But we're on the ground. Gale's tripped on his boxers around his ankles, distracted by my tongue. We must've moved somewhere between throwing our clothes off because the fireplace is beside us, a rug underneath our naked beings. I'm flat out on my back, Gale's body radiating heat onto me from above. We're roaming up and down the expanses of each other's bodies with our hands.

"Ignore it." Gale says, kissing my stomach. I sit up abruptly, our legs entangled in each other. Then I hear what he's referring to. The phone is blaring incessantly. Gale is considering me closely, inches from my face; does he really think I'd go and get it?

Rather than springing up to answer it, I drown out the noise by immersing myself in Gale's neck, biting softly. I don't even notice when it stops; Gale's fallen backwards and my lips are against his temples. His strong, burning hot hands cup my hips and push them down. We move in sync with each other now, our muscles and ligaments practiced in the movement required.

Our bodies are slick with sweat, limbs weary with exhaustion. Gale's the first to stop, pulling himself away from me. His face is slightly contorted in pain.

"What?" I whisper softly, moving in again, gently kissing his lips. He doesn't need to say it, his ribs. My fingers fall softly on the thin scar running down the right side of his torso where they cut to operate. We're both perspiring so intensely though that my hands slip off his body. "You okay?"

"Yeah," he whispers back, opening his eyes. Now he's cradled my head in one hand and the kiss is so slow, but urgent at the same moment I don't want it to ever end. It doesn't end as my legs slowly hitch around his hips and we roll so that I'm over top of him, my hair resting on his shoulders and chest. We've managed to conserve enough energy to keep going somehow. Gale's grip has slid past my hips and my own is tight on his shoulders.

"And here I was terrified you've both been kidnapped." It's neither of our voices. "How stupid of me, right? Considering everything that's happened."

I refuse to look up. I know who it is. Maybe if I make him uncomfortable enough he'll leave. Despite my previous resolve, I've popped up to see that Archer is two feet away on the opposite side of the table. The shock of me being fully naked in front Archer is too much apparently, because Gale has tugged me back down to him.

"We're fine," Gale practically growls, shifting so that he's elevated on his right elbow, muscles rippling delectably. His hair looks as though he's just rolled out of bed and been attacked by a grizzly bear. Archer doesn't care about our state; he's stepped around the table and stand where our legs have become tangled. I could care less about having Archer see me completely naked, but Gale finds a blanket – that fucking blanket that got me pregnant – and tosses it over me, covering his own parts with a pillow. I gag. I'll have to wash that later. "How the fuck did you get in here?"

Archer is fuming. The scar marring his cheek makes his whole face look more twisted in disbelief than it is. His dark green eyes roll like it's painful to look at us. Which it probably is. "I turned the doorknob." Archer bites his lip, like he's actually thinking before he speaks. "Would it kill you stop fucking each other and answer a fucking phone call?

Gale doesn't seem ready to answer, staring at Archer incredulity all but pouring from his eyeballs. He doesn't seem ready to speak.

"I checked the whole ISA building. I checked the square. Opal said you came here. I called your houseline. No answer. Then the phone in your office you never use. No answer. _I didn't know where the fuck you two were_."

"Archer," Gale says, smothering his face in frustration. Then he drops his hand. "We're fine." The words are meant to excuse Archer, but he invites himself to collapse on the couch.

"Naturally you'd be having sex. It's completely ridiculous that I was scared for you two…" Archer's voice is sopping with sarcasm.

"It _is_ ridiculous. They couldn't kidnap both of us together," Gale groans with annoyance. Archer's still firmly planted in place on the couch, exasperated that we weren't kidnapped. Since the kid doesn't seem eager to stop blowing his top at us, I scoot into Gale's body, placing a hand soothingly on his warm chest. His heart's beating rapidly, and I find myself begging him silently not to lose it. I was planning on getting back to where we had left off… Gale's eyes are cold when they meet mine, but they soften ever so slightly when I move in to resume our kissing. I'd go all the way right now if it means Archer leaving, but Gale has certain reservations when it comes to our display of affection in front of others. It's only when Gale's hold travels to my bare thighs that Archer rises abruptly.

"Alright I get it!"

An article of clothing sails from Archer and lands delicately on the glass of the table, my scarlet red lace thong. The door opens, a refreshing summer breeze rolling along the floor. "By the way you were supposed to pick up Keidan an hour ago."

Gale and I wait until the door has slammed shut to separate. Keidan has _not_ crossed my mind this afternoon, and from the amused smirk on Gale's lips I can see he's thinking the same thing. We both fall back away from each other, wondering if that makes us horrible parents, forgetting our child. Truth is, I'm relieved we didn't center everything around him today. It's a relief almost. Not almost. It _is_ a relief. Gale clutches my hand, and he's shaking. One glance over and I see that he's laughing, _genuinely_ laughing. The sight is so rare I almost ignore my own laughter flooding through every vessel of my being. The fact that we're so entertained by something so silly only invites more giggling, and soon we're barking out laughs like maniacs. Maybe we are insane, what with everything that's happened to us, but in this instant I couldn't care less.

* * *

><p>"Okay," Gale said. He paced, his shoes creating an annoying rhythm on the floor. I couldn't say what the floor was made of, just that it reminded me of the stuff on the ground in the Capitol. "They told me to be rational about this."<p>

I'd never been in the ISA. I was only in a meeting room, with a long silver table extending from one end to the other. A giant metal ring sat in the middle of the table, but I was too terrified to ask Gale was it was. He was on the far side of the table, pacing, pacing, pacing.

"Rational," I said dully. "Because you're such a rational person."

"Johanna!" He yelled angrily, stopping in his tracks. His hands joined together behind his head and he leaned backwards in irritation. Then he released his grip and threw his arms down. "I don't think you realize how serious this situation is."

"Clearly not! Because I didn't know you were fucking involved in all this!" My voice was rising too, but I was pissed. Not at the threats, but at him, and the whole organization for keeping everything a secret. "You never –"

"Shut up for a minute! Can you do that? Is it physically possible for you to stop?"

It worked. My mouth fell shut. He had _never_ talked to me like that. Well, yelled. My husband gripped the back of a chair, knuckles blooming white with strain.

"Thank you." He released the chair, but then turned and faced the wall, gathering his bearings. "Johanna, Tobin Lennox, is an _incredibly_ dangerous man…"

The door slid open, Archer stepping cautiously in. Then Paylor. Either they didn't consider Gale lashing out at me rational, or this was a scheduled intervention. Paylor's heels clicked annoyingly on the floor and she sat at a chair, Archer doing the same.

"Gale," he ventured. "You need to leave."

I gawked for a moment. Did he really think Gale would take that one well? Gale's face contorted in fury as he glowered at Archer.

"_Leave?"_ Gale sneered. He _sneered_. I'd never seen him do such a thing. "You want me to fucking leave?"

Paylor whispered something to herself, but a second later two huge men were standing in the room. Gale considered the floor, then the men, jaw taunt. He was sizing them up, determining if he could take them both down. By the way they were swallowing nervously, I don't think anyone present doubted he could.

"Seriously," Archer said, green eyes serious. "Go to the range. Let off some steam. Just walk, and we won't use the evil henchmen."

So much for serious.

Gale kicked a chair before doing as he was told, ignoring my gaze, shouldering his way past the burly men.

"Make sure he doesn't do anything stupid," Paylor ordered the men, composed and confident. A wide array of stupid things that Gale could do in a shooting range flashed through my mind, but I decided it wasn't the time to voice them.

"Alright," Archer sighed, folding his hands together. "Sit, Jo."

I did as I was told. In the silent room, I realized both of them could most likely hear my heart hammering in my chest. What just happened?

"Don't let Hawthorne out of the building," Paylor says quietly into a tiny microphone on her shirt. This must be normal behavior because Archer ignores it. How is it that the president of Panem is always conveniently around when something goes down?

I was tempted to ask her, but Archer began rubbing his face so furiously it was almost amusing. "I don't know where to start," he said to no one in particular. "You'd think after telling my own wife, I could figure out a way to tell you."

I'd forgotten that exchange between him and I, months ago, before Keidan was born. He was at our house in the morning, talking about bringing Melaina into all of this. I finally understood.

"Does he act like that at home?" Paylor inquired out of nowhere.

"Like a complete maniac?"

"Yes."

He did. But not often. I remembered him talking about Paylor not trusting him because of his anger problems. I didn't think I'd be helping his case if I confirmed her suspicions. "This isn't marriage counseling."

Archer let out a laugh, but shut himself up quickly. "Okay, I've got it." He then proceeded to explain everything I needed to know, with Paylor inputting her own information occasionally.

And that was when I gave up on hoping to lead a normal life.

* * *

><p>I'm fumbling in a cabinet above the sink. Makeup clatters to the counter, but I ignore it until my hands slide around what I'm searching for.<p>

The bottle's empty.

I pop the top off as if some pills may magically appear inside, but none do.

Shit.

I'm out of birth control.

An ache begins in my gut and I'm suddenly nervous. A moment later I'm sprawled on the bed, making patterns in the wooden beams of the ceiling with my mind. The phone's heavy in my hands, but eventually I press down the numbers.

"Hello?"

"Gale." I whimper.

"Jo?"

"No," I say sarcastically. "It's Katniss."

"Jo," he's preoccupied. "I'm kind of busy."

"So you know that incredible sex we had last week?" I throw the topic at him before he can back down.

"Yeah," he says slowly.

"I did the math… I was ovulating."

"Okay," Gale's confusion is evident. "But you have the pills."

"I ran out. Last week. I totally forgot." I'm hoping the spread eagle position I'm in somehow makes my breathing slow, my speech more composed so that my words aren't in the jumble that they are in my brain.

"Oh shit," Gale pauses, thinking. "Are you…?"

"It was only a week ago. But I want to go in for tests."

"Yeah," his voice is slow. "Yeah, that's a good idea."

I swallow. "I'm not ready for another baby."

"Maybe you're math was wrong."

I've always been good at math, but I can't bring myself to remind him of the fact. "Maybe."

"Call me when you're done," he instructs. "Alright?"

I nod. "Yeah."

"It'll be okay, Jo." Then he's gone. I let the phone drop out my hand and bounce on the couch. My hands find my flat stomach.

"_Please_ don't be a baby."

* * *

><p><strong>So? What it worth the wait? Let me know any thoughts you have, please leave a review and I'll try my best to reply! Oh, and thanks for all the wonderful reviews left for the last chapter, they keep me motivated!<strong>

**You know what to do. Just click that little button under here, and have at 'er. **


	10. Autumn Three: Part One

**Quickish update? I hope it will suffice. I've had most of this written for a while, I just had to throw it together. Plus, I'm going away, and who knows if there's internet, but I usually get pretty inspired when I'm not in my house, so maybe I'll get the next one up soon? This one is longer than usual, so maybe it'll make up for some waiting time.**

**Anyways, here it is, in Johanna's POV. If it seems a bit disjointed towards the end, that's because it's supposed to be. **

**Oh, and thanks for all the wonderful reviews again! I love getting any feedback at all, even if it's just a question to clarify something! Read, review, and...**

**ENJOY**

* * *

><p>Death is louder than we are.<p>

The entire corridor is empty; I don't think I've seen anyone pass through all afternoon. Every inch of the hallway's walls are windows except for the doors that lead to more passageways, or doors that lead into separate room. You'd think this could help lighten the mood, but it doesn't. Autumn's choice overcast clouds hang above the town, and it's rare to see anything move down on the street below. My eyes are so strained looking out the window that as a lone raindrop finds home on a panel of glass, I jump, my elbow slipping off the armrest.

Perfect. I _really_ love rain with every cell of my being. Having it fall in sheets around me was exactly what I was praying for today.

"We'll wait it out," Gale says quietly as sense my body beginning to tense. His right hand rests on my thigh, his thumb stroking it gently. In his left arm is Keidan, sleeping peacefully, snuggled up against his father's chest. It still amazes me, seven months later, how he can go from throwing a tantrum one second, snot pouring out of his nose, spit flying, tears staining his shirt to this here. His adorable rosy cheeks don't betray any sign of the little devil that rages inside of him. And does he calm down for me? Not a chance. But the instant you put the bugger in Gale's arms, the crying fades to whimpers and he'll start his baby giggle. Return him to my arms and the wailing resumes.

I focus on the soothing rhythmic motion of Gale's thumb while watching Keidan sleep. You'd think after all these years I could get over this. No amount of courage could bring me to look out any of the windows around me right now.

The probability of me getting through this afternoon without Gale would have been slim. Part of me says he's here because he knows how terrified I am, the other part tells me he's here because he wants to discover first hand if we're having another baby. Either way, I'm glad he came.

There's the sound of a door opening, and I jump again, Gale's hand wrapping over my thigh to settle me down. It's not _our_ door, not _our_ doctor with _our_ results. The man that exits looks briefly at Gale and I over his glasses and then turns down the hallway. A moment later he does a double take, realizing who we are.

"Another one on the way?" He asks brightly. I notice the rain against the windows and look back at the floor, trusting Gale to answer.

"Could be," Gale replies, voice edgy.

Two months ago they said I wasn't pregnant, but the thing is I've missed two of my periods since then. The only time I've missed my period in my life has been when I was pregnant. I even got it during the damned games the first time around. I've also thrown up everyday for a week straight. If I'm not pregnant then I surely must be dying.

I'd rather die right now than have another baby already.

I know that sounds absolutely awful, but I'm a hundred percent serious. The other day I grasped the concept that we have to eventually tell our kids what happened to us. How the fuck do you talk to anyone about killing other kids or losing everyone and everything you love, or being raped and tortured, or how you were too weak to face any of it so you drank the pain away and drown yourself in any form of painkiller you could get your hands on… How do you tell anyone that, let alone your own child? I haven't wrapped my mind around it, and I doubt Gale has because he just told me that we'd figure it out when we needed to.

And fuck, it doesn't happen often, but what about the days when it all comes back to us, and we lose it. There _have _been days where I've felt no need to leave the bed, not because I was comfortable but because I didn't want to face my life. Even with Keidan around. I love him more than anything in the world, and that sounds cliché, but I don't know how else to say it. But as much joy he's brought to our broken world, I don't think I could handle another one yet.

I'm standing up before I can comprehend that my legs moved. Then I'm pacing and ignoring Gale whose watching me. He understands that I can't sit still. He does the same.

Now my footfalls echo down the hall, and in my mind the sound drowns out that of the rain. Anticipation makes it seem like its taking a hundred times longer, but it's also because of Ravern's new assisting nurse. She had one that I faintly remember, but then she vanished one day. Everyone suspected she ran off with a man, but there were human remains found in some lower basement hall of the hospital a few months back. It was impossible to figure out who the person was, but everyone in the hospital speculated it was her since there were no reports of other missing people. Gale mentioned something about it I think; a young nurse committing suicide. I've tried before, and setting myself on fire wasn't on my list, but I guess everyone has their own ways of dealing with things.

Not that I really understand how it's taking longer, shouldn't assistants old or new know how to do their job?

"Gale," I whine. "This is taking forever."

"Sit," he says in a relaxed tone. "You're making me nervous."

I do as he asks, and find I've tired myself out with my little spurt of marching. "My stomach feels like it did at the beginning of the Games." It's twisting in anxiety; I remember it so clearly, like it was this morning I was standing on that metal disc, wondering if someone had seen through my cover, that I wasn't stupid as I seemed. If they had, I'd be dead faster than if I really was the stupid frilly girl I'd made the whole country think I was. Something's not right with the fact that I'm having the same reaction now as when I was waiting to kill someone, or have someone kill me.

"Me too," comes Gale's voice.

_What?_

"Not the Games, but like when you wait for the signal to shoot, and you know if you do bullets will be flying back at you." Gale ruffles his hair and sighs. The hue of his grey eyes is alike that of thick smoke today. They've focused in thought on the crevice in the floor where it meets the wall. "We all get it. Just for different things."

Before I can move my lips to respond, the door has swung open, revealing the nurse who tells us that Dr. Ravern wants to speak to us. I can't get into the room fast enough. "Well," the doctor says slowly as we enter, looking at some colorful charts on a screen. "If you'd like to take a seat."

"I really wouldn't. Can't you just tell us yes or no?" I ask loudly, refusing to sit down. I need to know _now._ There shouldn't be any discussion, just a simple yes or no. Gale's come in behind me, holding Keidan against his shoulder gently with one arm. There's pressure against my back from his right arm, which is gently directing me towards a seat.

Ravern's face wriggles as she dismisses her assistant and closes the door. "Not exactly."

Sinking into the chair, I brace myself for the worst. I'm pregnant and the baby has some sort of awful deformity. But she couldn't determine that already could she?

The room is a square attached to a semicircle. One wall is a huge screen from ceiling to floor that shows pictures when scans are taken. The curved portion of the room is where we sit now, the patient bed having disappeared into the wall, chairs appearing in its place. Colorful charts on bright computer screens cover the other wall, which also is home to a panel of buttons that brings anything the doctor might need to the room. Every hospital in the country has been upgraded to be like this, but the technology almost makes me feel uncomfortable. It takes away from the homey small town coziness I've been so used to. Plus, all these computers are reminding me too much of the Capitol.

Ravern turns a dial and the large screen bears a chart with purple, red, blue and orange lines. "You have the symptoms of being with child, but these are your hormone levels," she points to the lines with a finger. "These two," she gestures to the red and orange lines, "should be higher, since they stop you from having your period. However, with such low levels I can't fathom why you haven't had it. This one," now the purple line, "is what stimulates ovulation. Right now it should be high, since you should be ovulating again. But it's low. So these are contradicting each other."

In all honesty, she looks completely baffled, and it's making me uncomfortable. She stabs a button and a green line appears. "This hormone is present to mimic one of the others. It comes around when you're pregnant, and so this is showing us that you are indeed pregnant."

"Wait," I say slowly, scrunching my face, attempting to make sense of everything. "So you don't know if I am…?"

Ravern shrugs and the chart turns off. "Basically. You're scans showed nothing, but the urine sample proved positive. There's another test I perform on some woman, but with the trace amounts of morphling still present in your blood, your body could react very badly to it."

My eyes find Gale who looks like he feels ten times more confused than me. "Isn't it your job to find out?" My tone is harsh, but really, I didn't come here to hear that I _might_ be pregnant.

"I'm going to run more tests on the blood and urine samples, to see if something else may be wrong, but it also may be psychological. I've come across many woman who want a child so badly that they're body begins reacting…"

"The thing is," my voice is trembling in what… frustration? "I want to be pregnant just about as much as I want to go be _raped_ again. So there is _no_ possibility of me doing this to myself." The tone of my voice has awakened Keidan who begins squirming around. I watch Gale – who doesn't look at me – as he settles the baby down, pulling the drawstring of Keidan's jacket out of his mouth. Keidan keeps grabbing at it, and finally Gale rises, holding Keidan out in front of him, so that the baby's arms are dangling and he can't quite process what has happened.

"Can't see why you wouldn't want another one right now," Gale says, light sarcasm playing in his words. "We'll be back." He adds after Keidan's face begins crinkling in dissatisfaction.

"He's a good father, you know," Ravern says once they've left. "If you are pregnant, you have to remember you're not going through it alone."

Really? "Except he's not carrying the baby in his fucking stomach," I hiss bitterly. I couldn't count on my fingers the number of times I swore around Ravern during my pregnancy in one month alone. "And he's been practicing since he was fourteen. This was my first brush with motherhood. And look at him and Keidan. I feel like I'm missing something, like I wasn't ready for this."

"You just adjust differently, I see it in a lot of new mother's," Ravern says calmly, considering me closely. I honestly believe besides the _Mellarks _– shit it's still weird to think of them like that – I'm the most difficult patient a doctor could have. "It usually has to do with the way you were brought up."

That is somewhere I don't want to go right now. Everyday is a good day to steer clear of my upbringing. "I'm not here for a psychological assessment." My legs are pushing me up from the chair and I'm adjusting the cuffs on my leather jacket. No, no, no. I'm not about to travel down that path with anyone. It's a stretch for me to talk about it with Gale, and when I do it involves me consuming a lot of alcohol.

"Johanna, everyone in the country knows you two, but no one knows your stories. I'm just as clueless as the rest."

Shrugging my purse back up onto my shoulder I respond. "And you really think you're going to be any different?"

Ravern rolls her eyes, something I've come to expect when people have to deal with me. That's right, bitch, back off the damned subject. "You don't need to tell me. I now know what I need to."

I'm at the door. "Don't think you can judge me because of what I say. You have _no _idea what circumstances I grew up under. It wasn't having my father die one week, and my mother give birth the next, but it was just as damn terrible."

"Johanna, do you seriously believe that I'm judging you?" The doctor is still sitting in her chair. Some people's ability to maintain composure irritates me beyond belief.

I swallow rather than answer.

"I'm going to call your psychiatrist from the Capitol, Dr. Aurelius, and see what he thinks might be wrong. He knows what you've been through, and I'm not going to ask what that may be, but he could be our biggest help in this situation. He might know whether all of this may be brought on from some former trauma or not. I'm not one to determine that, I work strictly with pregnancies, and I'm not about to pretend I fully understand any of my patients, especially you."

My hand pauses before I press the button the open the door. "I just can't have a baby right now," I say with a strained voice. Am I seriously about to cry? The tension in the back of my throat tells me so. "That's all you need to know."

And then I'm gone.

* * *

><p>If you're under eighteen you get Saturdays and Sundays off of work. From the age of fifteen, partying becomes a way of life in my town. I stumble through the front door, pale orange morning light dawning on the horizon. Slightly inebriated, I cross the floor, which is freshly strewn with broken glass. Some crunches under my feet, but I manage to where my tiny bedroom lays, wanting nothing more than to fall asleep and stop thinking about the dreadful hangover that will welcome me when I wake up.<p>

"You'll never be like your brother."

My father is in a rickety leather chair, an empty whiskey bottle in his hand. Grey stubble lines his face and he glowers at me with my own eyes.

"I don't want to be," I spit back. I'm over the fact that my father hates me. I just can't handle when he decides to speak to me. "He's dead."

"What?" The door opens, and suddenly its sunny outside. My brother; standing before me, looking like he would if he were older maybe. Not dead.

"Sawyer?"

What the hell is happening? I try to think of something I'd done in the forest that could've brought on these hallucinations. We do some crazy things, despite knowing the forest is strictly off limits after hours. Turner started smoking some plant I'd learn from a young age to avoid unless you wanted to die. He seemed fine when I left, but maybe it got into my system. I've smoked and drank some bizarre things, not caring what they do as long as I didn't die, but none have ever brought my brother back to life in such vivid form.

"Don't come any closer," I say, holding my hand out. "I'm fucking hammered."

My dad starts laughing, taking a swig from the whiskey bottle. But there's none left. But somehow it's dribbling down his lip, splashing onto his tattered plaid shirt.

I take that back.

I'm high as a fucking kite.

The door behind Sawyer transforms into a floor length mirror. In it I see a flash of brilliantly red hair, but as I turn around to find someone, a crash comes from the kitchen. Sawyer just stands like he did when he entered and when I glance back I see my father's dropped the bottle. I walk into the kitchen, which is empty except for a stale loaf of bread and a rancid rib off a deer one of my friends caught. The tap turns on by itself, and the water is steaming hot, something completely rare. This is like a bad dream. I'm never hanging around while anyone smokes that shit again. Then red hair is reflected in the grimy window above the sink. Studying the pane of glass, I wonder how it could possible reflect anything.

Again, I turn. Somehow, I've returned to the front room, but my father's laughing maniacally. His laughter turns into a choking sound, but no concern rises in me. Then he's still, unblinking. I'll turn out like him, surely.

But there's something about this pose. So familiar, collapsed on the chair.

I've found him like this before.

When he died.

This is a nightmare. I'm quickly aware it's not real, but the question is what is my reality? I can't force myself awake to find out.

Sawyer coughs again.

"You're not real," I say trying to ignore him, willing myself to wake up. Another flash of red hair as I spin around; my mother's hair. But she's dead too. I never see her face in dreams. It'll be the hair, her exact wild deep russet hair, but never the right face; always a Capitol woman's, or my mentor's. It makes me sick to know I've memorized every disgusting feature of my father's face but not my mother's beautiful one.

Now Sawyer is in front of me, but he's holding a squirming bundle. The blanket moves temporarily to reveal Keidan, but newborn Keidan; not seven-month-old Keidan. Okay, that's it then. It'll be Gale beside me when I wake up, not some other boy from Seven, not a bottle or my morphling drip. But still I can't wake up.

"You're better than me, Jo," Sawyer says, referring to our father's words. But they were my mind's words. Well his too, but this is a dream. I should be able to stop it. He's holding tiny Keidan out to me, but rumpled blankets conceal my baby's face. Before I know what's happening, I've stretched out for Keidan though I know he's not real.

But then it's Snow in front of me. Not Sawyer. And the old President is pulling Keidan back towards his body.

"Should've done what I said," he whispers in the same tone he did years ago, after I'd turned down his _offer_.

There's a chorus if people chanting, and they must be hidden in the mildew-covered walls or something. "Everyone you love will die." If I became a prostitute like Finnick my family would be alive. But not Sawyer; he died before. And not Keidan. Who knows where I'd be if I hadn't lost everything.

Snow smiles, but the smile is genuine and true and it's Sawyer again. I want this to end.

I open my mouth but the chorus starts up again and I try to scream, my mouth spreading open without any sound. Sawyer's transformed back into Snow who is now holding Keidan, but then he's not, his hands are opening and Keidan's falling, falling, falling…

There is no floor where Keidan falls, but my body won't budge to grab him as I urge it to.

"You're just going to let him die?" It's Gale's voice. My father is now Gale, who's watching me with serious grey eyes. The chorus is chanting. Gale is screaming. Snow has burst into a million rose petals that shower the descending baby, making it impossible to see where he is.

I'm falling onto my knees to search for him…

My eyes flick open and my body gives an involuntary jump. It's bitterly cold under the covers, but even more so out of them. Normally, I'm sweating like a beast after nightmares, but I don't even know if this could be classified as one. It was more bizarre than anything.

"You're shaking like a leaf."

Sometimes I wonder if Gale ever sleeps, because when I wake up and Keidan's bawling or I have a nightmare he's usually already grabbing the baby for his feeding or sitting on the edge of the bed deep in thought. I know I should ask him why, but I don't even want to know what most of the things raging inside of his head are. Tonight he's lying down, but his head is propped up on one arm. Even in the darkness of the night, I can make out the shape of his head against the moonlight reflecting off the raindrops on the windows.

For a moment I think I might be shaking because of the rain, or because I'm so cold. I only realize now that the only part of me that's warm is where his arm rests on my bare hip. "What was it about?"

I turn to face him, both arms curled against my body as though it'll help me retain heat. "Did you know I once got high for a whole day from some leaf I smoked?"

Gale chuckles lowly. "Can't say I'm surprised. Is that what you dreamed about?"

"Sort of. My whole family was in it and I thought I was so high that I was hallucinating."

It's silent for a long second, rain pattering on the window pains. As long as I can't see it I'm fine. Gale knows when I want to talk about my family, and when I don't, so he doesn't pry. "I once pissed on one of my teacher's houses," he recalls, "I was so drunk I didn't find out until I was back at school and I was supposed to go to detention for a week before and after school."

Now, my body shakes with laughter as I imagine Gale writing something inappropriate on a wall with piss. From what I know, he partied, but not so hard that he forgot what had happened. Keeping his family safe and fed was his main priority. "Do you know why you did it?"

He thinks hard for a moment. "I was eighteen. And she had a fit because I came halfway through the class and it had been the third time that week. It was during the Games, and getting Prim to and from school was such a hassle not that I blamed her. Two of the days I got sucked into the Games with her. But it was a Friday and I was so done with Katniss kissing Peeta that I drank it all away with my friends."

"And then took a piss on your teachers house," I add; my hand wanders across the valley between us and grazes his chest. My fingers trace along it gently, and everything's so perfect for a second I forget the world and there's only his warm, smooth skin under my own. Everything makes sense in the moment, just me and him and nothing else matters and I just want so desperately to hold onto this forever.

Gale's hand leaves my hip and plays tenderly with my fingers on his body. "Whatever, it's not like I ever went. She's the only teacher that couldn't see there was no point in trying to discipline me. The other's gave up after my father died."

Our fathers. Both dead. Both affected our lives in such opposite ways. His nurtured and taught him while mine did what? Gave me an unhealthy affection for alcohol? Made me understand that I was never good enough for anyone or anything? I sure am grateful for the lessons I carry with me today that came from him. They _really_ reassure me that I deserve the happiness I have now.

"Ravern said you left cause she brought up your family," Gale ventures suddenly. Alright, maybe he doesn't have great judgment about when to bring up my past. Predicting the infamous Johanna-pull-away, he grips my wrist against his body firmly. It's not in a harsh manner, more of an I-don't-want-you-to-leave one. "You really have to stop running."

"Let's not do this now," I suggest, looking past his shoulder.

"When then?"

"Never."

Gale's hand slides up to my elbow and his familiar fingers clasp around it securely, reassuringly almost. "It has to be done sometime."

Finally, I allow myself to turn defiantly away from him so that he is forced to release his grip. My arms are tucked back in against my chest and I smother my face into the comforter. Gale sighs and the bed creaks slightly as he slides against me and snakes an arms around me, pulling me close. His hot breath tickles the sensitive curve between my shoulder and ear. "Fine, I'm done." Lips touch faintly behind my ear and he settles down into the pillows. "Only because you'll be throwing up in a few hours and I know I'll feel bad for having given you a hard time now."

"Thanks for reminding me," I whisper to the darkness. "Don't know what I'd do without you. You're a real keeper."

Gale's free hand plays downs my hair in as he chuckles in response.

* * *

><p>After what has become the usual bout of vomiting I through myself into the shower, eager to rinse away that sickening sensation that I've somehow managed to get this bodily concoction plastered on every inch of my skin. Gale lets me be, mostly because he knows from experience that nothing good will come from him being in the same room as me. Especially now, when I don't want this "maybe" baby.<p>

The steady – dare I say it – soothing streams of water from the shower head beings working its magic, drumming rhythmically over my tense muscles, loosening them. All the grime I'm imagining on my body flows easily off. Despite my past hydrophobia I'm in bliss. I take my time shampooing my hair, squeezing my eyes shut and allowing the thrumming of the water as it fills my ears to drown out the rest of the world. The submersion doesn't send me off the deep end; rather it soothes me considerably as I imagine myself detached from the world, basking in the comforting freedom that has become my sanctuary. I can forget about the baby, about Ravern, about the strange dream with my father and brother and Snow.

It has to be close to noon, but the nausea is rising like a tidal wave in my stomach. Forget about that forgetting. This "baby" is determined to constantly be on my mind.

I _never_ get sick twice. A quick puke and I can be on with my day. Will nothing go as expected for me? Before it finds a way out, I rinse down and throw myself out of the shower and towards the toilet. I make it, but only just in time. Long strands of my hair are heavy with water and it's a struggle to hold them out of the way as my body heaves. Eventually I give up and surrender to hugging the toilet bowl. As I think it finishes, I lean back tentatively and place my head between my knees, closing my eyes. My body is shivering as though I've been out in a winter storm, water droplets soaking the floor around me.

A few minutes later I decide to attempt standing. Rather than the usual head rush that accompanies rising after vomiting up my insides my vision blurs grey. At first it's a light smoky color, but it thickens to a deep charcoal, and it's not about to. My hands reach out for something; finding nothing, not even air, my head explodes in pain and any bit of light within the grey flashes into a brilliant darkness.

I'm back in the room, strapped to the chair, naked. My arms and legs are strapped to the limbs of the chair with sheet metal, so that the electrodes will not only flow through the wires attached to my body. I'm panting, dripping wet and shivering from the icy water they'd all but drowned me in moments ago.

He raped me. I told them I didn't know anything, but they know I'm lying. I don't know how much longer I can hold on. Peeta's howls last night – I think it was last night – were enough to me why I can't say anything. I managed to make last through what happened this morning, but the breaking point has passed. I'm beyond being broken… I'm irreparable. If I manage to live past this, am rescued for some reason, it questionable as to if I'll be able to move or even speak.

He steps into the room, dirty yellow lights buzzing like the insects in that damned arena. My eyes have focused on those hands; that forced my body to fall still so he could carry out what he wanted to. My head is pounding like it has been for as long as I can remember since being held here. There has to be some sort of damage in there. I let it fall forwards; it's too heavy to hold up any longer. But then I'm stuck look at his black boots, and I put every ounce of energy remaining in my system into pulling it back up. I hold his eyes. Blue and icy. I won't look away; I won't let him know that I want to die because of everything he's done.

"Jo?"

My head's still pounding, but my visions grey. They must've switched on the electricity. One's in my cheek though, but it's soft. This is new.

"Johanna?"

The edges of my vision transform into black blurs, and my body's seizing uncontrollably. Somehow I manage to blink. Shadow swallows up the grey.

It's Gale's voice. Why is he here? The pressure against my cheek is his hand; the warmth and skin are familiar. Something unintelligible tumbles from my lips. The in my brain is so extreme; the reverberation so excruciating I don't dare to say anything more.

"Come here," Gale's voice again. The darkness recedes. I'm soaking wet curled up on ice-cold tile.

"Where – " What happened? I was just in the torture cell. How am I here? Where is here? I try moving, but my joints feel like rusted door hinges. His arms pull me across the wet floor. Water. I want to scream, but it catches in my throat.

"Jo," Gale. "I have to dry you off."

Dry off? Has he gone crazy? I'm dying. I might say no because he's hushing me, sliding the slithering wet strand that is my hair away from my face.

"Can you stand?" His tone is so gentle, not urgent. I wasn't being tortured. But what happened? Gale helps me, but the beige tile swirls together and my knees buckle the moment my head is upright. I push his away, my arms weary and sore. My mouth opens to tell Gale to stop touching me, but vomit pours out rather than words. I don't care that my hair falls in the grotesque mush. I just don't want to move. The pounding is growing if it's at all possible. My eyes shut.

I'm faintly aware of drying out, a plush towel rubbing against the tender muscles of my body. I'm too terrified to speak and as a result I whimper in response to words aimed at me. The pressure in my skull begins by my neck, and sends fissures ahead at an insufferably sluggish rate. Then I'm in clothes, _real _clothes, underwear and a bra. I allow myself to feel safe for a moment blankets are pulled over me, my head of a feathery soft pillow. A gentle hand strokes my cheek again, but I don't want to open my eyes. This comfort has to be a dream. After the electricity, and the wires and the water, this can't be real.

All of my focus goes into the hand that caresses me; I don't want to drift off. It stops. The need to cry is consuming, but as the muscles inside of me tense, nausea crashes over me like a breaking wave and I have no desire to taunt it with motion.

The chair… I'm strapped in and he's laughing at me. His finger rests cynically on the switch that could bring my death. Part of me is tempted to plead for it, for the numbness that trounces that pain afterwards. I refuse to give him the satisfaction of that.

Moist lips on my forehead.

I blink. The harsh light reminds me of the agony raging in my head and my eyes clench shut. There are thick covers over my body, but I'm quaking violently.

"Can you hear me?" I can, but I don't know how to show the voice that I do. A hand is in mine. I manage a feeble squeeze. "It's alright, Jo. You're safe. You're at home."

What's home? In Seven? But the voice is Gale's. Thirteen? No. I'm in Two. Two is home. Safety rings true in his words. Fear is not why I'm like this. The warmth of his body, his hand, his lips, assures me that I'm safe. What about my head? Am I going to die? It feels like it. What about the rest of my body? It's numb, but aching unceasingly simultaneously.

When I finally manage to move, it feels as though it's been years since I've done so. But the repulsive flavor of bile returns to my mouth and I can't stop it from flooding out. I'm too weak to call for Gale. He's here. I know he is. I don't dare fall asleep though. It'll just bring more horror.

* * *

><p>Nightmares.<p>

I'm cleaned. The curtains are drawn. My eyes can opens with my temples pulsing. The word bedroom floats through my mind, and I accept that that is where I am.

Gale says something from the foot of the bed. I stare into the darkness, but I'm looking at a wall not him. The slightest shake of my head to tell him I can't hear throws me back into oblivion. I hadn't noticed the quivering had stopped, but it restarts. His voice is drowned out by the pulsing of blood in my brain. Each beat compresses against specific points in my skull. At least this tells me I'm alive. The grey void in my vision had led me to believe otherwise.

He brings me food, the scary man. Not Gale. A lump of bread. Tells me Peeta made it. It doesn't make sense. My body is free of restraints and I smash the platter out of his hands, the resulting racket disagreeing with my head. If I starve myself maybe they'll stop. But Annie's crazy, and their still attacking her. I doubt they'll exempt me from torture if I'm more starved than a dead animal.

Gale brings me something. Not food. "You have to drink." He cradles my neck, and takes his time moving my limbs so that I'm almost sitting. My head rests on the headboard, my legs bent against the pillow, arms hugging myself. The sensation of water against my lips startles me enough so that I open my eyes. My throat yearns for liquid, but my mind is screaming for me to stay away. The panicked shine in Gale's eyes cause me to relent, but I only allow it to touch my chapped lips for a split second. It takes more coaxing for another sip. And then another. Moving back into a comfortable position will result in my vomiting, and I reject all ideas about lying down. "You're shivering again." He puts the glass of water on the bedside table, and I couldn't be happier to see it gone.

* * *

><p>Nightmares. My father floats in and out of them, then my brother. Red hair. I try to find my mother beneath it all, but as I do I fall into a pool, and my body writhes in agony, electricity coursing through it.<p>

I wake up to a pill on the table, which I readily swallow, eager to drive everything away. It's dark out, and I know from the lightness that now fills my head it's not my vision being obscured.

I dare to drift back asleep.

Startled by some far off horror, my eyes flit open and daylight spills in from behind the shade of the curtains. I must be tiresome to look after. I don't feel better but the paranoia has passed along with the delirium. But I'm weak. And sick. And still shaking. But that could be from not eating. There's nothing even wrong with me. It's all in my head. But I can't discharge this poison. I'm getting quick flashbacks when I'm awake. Just a jolt. Goosebumps rise along my arms. But then leave. I haven't had a relapse in over a year. I thought they were done.

Gale's more than patient when he appears later. But now he bears the gift of juice. He sees me eying it warily. "Drink this and I won't call the hospital."

It's red. But not thick. He holds the glass for me since my hands refuse to keep still. My sips are bigger than with the water yesterday, yet it's more repulsive. It churns my stomach. The glass doesn't seem to empty at all, and after five sips I lean away.

"I'm going to puke," I whisper. Gale rubs my back soothingly, having slipped onto the bed next to me.

"No you're not."

He's wrong. I'm right. I can't keep the bit of juice down. Gale resorts back to water. It's the sight more than the actual liquid that makes it hard to ingest so I squeeze my eyes shut and focus on the relief it brings to my throat rather than the frenzy it causes in every other part of my body.

I don't want the pills because I quickly discover they make me anxious when I'm awake. To keep me conscious Gale tells me about work and the people he chose for his team for some mission. None of his words make a lot of the sense, and even the word mission triggers nothing when I know it should.

"I had to feed Keidan formula," Gale mentions. Now my body reacts. Where is he? I want to see him. I'm informed he's asleep, and though I want to hold him I don't have the energy to fathom such an idea.

The next day I can tell Gale's patience is being tested. So, when he suggests that I try to come downstairs I accept it. I must smell terrible I realize. I haven't washed myself. I haven't done anything but throw up.

The instant the covers are off my body I panic. A chill hits me but since I'm already curled in a ball I don't know what to do with myself.

It'll be the first time I've stood. The instant I slide my feet off the bed I know this is an awful idea. There is no chance of me making it to the stairs. I feel like I'm standing on a bed of water, the floor swaying dangerously beneath my feet. It's impossible to hear or see anything as I get the worst head rush in the entire world's history. Memories of the one from the other day that induced all of this make it worse. I don't know what made us think I could do it.

"Gunna puke?" Gale asks, touching both my arms. I shut my eyes willing for the pounding, rushing blood to diminish. I feel myself nod.

"Sit," he suggests softly, guiding me to the ground. My head falls between my knees and Gale slinks down next to me.

"I'm sorry," I whisper feebly. What the fuck is wrong with me? "You should just take me to the hospital."

The queasiness passes but is guaranteed to return if I move. Gale kisses the top of my head, smoothing my hair. " I don't think either of us wants you to end up there."

"Fucking hate hospitals..." I murmur, deciding I agree with him despite my previous proposal.

Gale continues combing his fingers through my hair, resting his lips on my head. "Me too. I'm getting you juice. I don't care if you throw it all back up, but you have to drink it all. Okay?"

Death sounds more appealing than juice right now but I know if I don't and I pass out and… Hospital it is.

"Can I carry you down?" I resolve to let Gale scoop me up smoothly. I'm a tiny child in his huge arms. Gripping onto his shirt pulls my attention from everything else, and my finger's wind around it tighter solely for that reason. My head tucks into his chest under his chin. I'll woozy by the time we hit the bottom and despite how vigilant Gale is when he places me down, my body protests, joints flaring as though I've been crushed under a rockslide. The shuddering starts again, and though I'm faintly chilled a blanket doesn't stop it. Tears are beading in my eyes; when will this end?

I sit curled up in the corner, staring at a stone tile, unwillingly to think about anything else. I'm not scared anymore of the nightmares, or the sickness. The only thing I care about is what could possibly be going on.

The juice is a feat to get down again. I want it. I want to drink it, but my throat constricts and I can hardly swallow. After about half an hour I manage it, but my empty stomach churns. Gale's crouching down beside the arm of the couch watching me intently with concern burning in his eyes. I notice the line of stubble he's allowed himself to grow out ever so slightly. He cups my face, a sad expression scrawled on his own.

"I want you to be better."

Rather than answering, the tears finally free themselves and an ugly sob escapes form deep within me. I'm tired of this. I hate being this vulnerable. I detest it. I feel like I'm back in the Capitol, with no way of defying them, or defending myself.

* * *

><p>It's back. The pain causes me to stir. This isn't hunger. I'm too weak to move and I'm weakly begging for Gale but he doesn't come either cause he's not here or because my voice is too feeble for his ears. I can't even recall what the month is. There has to be a knife in my stomach, that's the only explanation. As I curl around my stomach, it's clear that the pain isn't just there. My whole body is tight. This isn't normal. I'm incredibly hot and more faint than I've felt through this whole ordeal, and the pain climaxes. I let out a tight wail of distress, hoping against hope that Gale's home. My body is numb and I cry, loose any grip on my placement on the couch or in the house. I'm floating in some nightmarish reality.<p>

Someone's killing me. I don't understand what else this could be. An intensely warm sensation around my legs brings me back. And relief. Red is all that meets my eyes once I convince myself to look.

Blood.

I'm not shocked at first. Maybe it's my period. That's impossible I realize quickly. It's too early. The pain. That gripping, twisting ache… it was so familiar. There's enough energy somewhere deep within me, enough to lean closer and get a truly good look.

Instantly, I regret it.

I've miscarried.

* * *

><p><strong>So? What did you think? Like it? Hate it? Please let me know, just hit that little button down there. Thanks for reading (:<strong>


	11. Autumn Three: Part Two

**Another quick update! I'm on a roll. Anyways, I have to catch a plane soon, so this is Gale's POV, thanks for all the reviews again and **

**ENJOY**

**(This is revised from when I first posted it. It was 5am where I was and my proof reading was clearly more awful than usual, so sorry to anyone that read the crappy one.)**

* * *

><p>The hologram is eerily alike that of the one we studied closely when learning the intricate details of the Capitols streets at the end of the rebellion. Now there are two though, side by side, one a bird's eye view of the northern Keep village and the other an image of the natural boundaries surrounding their cavernous hideout. Ten of us are seated around the table that holds it, all silent, all staring into the flickering daunting electric blue wondering what the hell we're supposed to do.<p>

We stare for minutes, our minds ticking furiously attempting to come up with some idea. Each plan that any of us constructs involves blowing everything sky high, but it's not an option.

Paxton breaks the silence, sighing heavily and swishing around the drink in his glass, the ice cubes rattling against their barrier. Some of us consider our drinks for a moment, but think better of it and turn out attention back to the images before us. A whiff of alcohol reaches my nose. Maybe it's calmed our nerves too much, but no one's even finished a glass. Some have resorted back to coffee and water. I take a swig, slicing through the newly restored silence. A glance around shows me that no one's noticed.

Archer seems almost bored, but I know that the expression he takes on when focusing. The fingers on his artificial hand thrumming quietly on the table's sheening metal surface while the other rests beneath his scruffy sandy blonde hair. A glint in his dark green eyes mirror the impatience and frustration building inside all of us. He bites his lip to keep from saying something, but ultimately agrees against it and opens his mouth.

"This is going absolutely fucking nowhere," he announces angrily. "Let's take this one step at a time. I don't care how fucking ridiculous any ideas may be, but they're better than nothing. So, how about we just write down whatever the fuck is on our minds, and go from there."

Nobody objects because progress is progress and Archer's just said what we've all been thinking. Someone breaks out notepads and we scribble down ideas; I suspect many will be similar. Mine are one-word notions while I see others are working on paragraphs. Archer, Paxton and I will lead a team of thirty each. Originally, it was just Archer and I, but we agreed that Paxton deserved some credit for everything he's done for the ISA. We have second and third in commands on our teams, and they've been invited to any meetings we have concerning the mission. The tenth person is Paylor naturally. I wonder how she has so much time to attend to our matters while there's still an entire country to run. She probably doesn't even run the country. Her assistant or husband probably does, since I've never seen either of them.

The President doesn't write anything, already having expressed her views on the situation. She's not supposed to be the mastermind behind our missions; she's only there to give her approval and sign off on it. After announcing we'd be doing a raid, well… her duties ended there until we figure out what this raid will entail. At the moment, her eyes rest on Archer who downs the rest of his drink and flips his pen in the air. I wonder what Paylor's thinking. Is she wondering how she managed to hire such a group of insipid deadbeats? Maybe if Archer and I are completely sane? Or perhaps she's just considering going with the bomb idea. Her eyes flash to me, and my glance dashes away.

"Well," Archer has collected the papers and dropped them in a messy pile before him. No one's sure who elected him to read them out, but apparently he feels obligated to do so. "Here goes the first one…" he digs around the pile and pulls out a paper. As he reads, I'm tempted to reach in the pile and read others out, but decide against it.

Suddenly he's standing and leaning towards the forested hologram. "Lise," Destera looks away from the blue lights, her eyes wide with confusion. "I recognize your writing. Taking both at once is good, I like it, but we need more man power which _mom_," he raises his eyebrows at Paylor who scoffs, "isn't wiling to allow. But if we find some way of disabling one without physically being there, I'm all ears."

Destera is Archer's second in command and she's pleased that he's accepted the idea for the most part, proving she belongs where she's been placed.

Ever the organized one, Pine – the weapons specialist – offers to write down the propositions that we accept. Everyone's presented something legitimate, but many are similar, and all are vague. Bombing pops up at least five times, and while Pine writes it down, we know it's not a possibility.

"Well, this one's interesting," Archer says curiously. It could be the alcohol, but I swear his dark green eyes flit to me for a second. Chances are that if it's interesting, I probably didn't write it. "Could someone…?" Archer reaches for a plate of pastries on the table, and they're pushed towards him. Purposely delaying the reveal of the proposal he shoves his mouth full of the thing and chews obnoxiously. Sometimes I think him and Johanna are soul mates; this is the exact kind of thing she would do. But most of the time I'm just thinking about how if you told me when I was nineteen that I would marry Johanna Mason in a few years, I would've thought you were insane.

"Read the damned slip, Karis," Weston hisses. He's a thirty-year-old man, Terek's brother in law and my third in command. Normally I wouldn't have picked him, but his sharpshooting skills are far above average and since him and Terek were best friends growing up, they can work wonders Katniss and I would've on a battlefield. Terek, who's the best medic we've got, is and will always be my top choice for a second in command. Even if Archer and Paxton weren't leading, I'd pick her. She's calm and collected when everyone else isn't and looks how things will affect us in the long run, where as everyone else mostly acts based on thoughts focused around the present.

"Okay, okay," Archer says defensively through a full mouth, dropping the dessert carelessly on a stack of papers below him. "Whoever's this is, you deserve Hawthorne's job. If it's yours Gale, then I'm happy your mind is ticking properly again."

It's not a compliment, more of an insult, and so my expression remains neutral as he looks to me with a teasing grin.

"No one comment until I've read it all," Archer says warningly. No one is in the mood to cut him off anyways. "Decoy in mountains. Create mutts to challenge mountain mutts. Proceed to raid village. Or… set off specific pods in village and raid mountain." It's mine, and Archer's added in more words to the mix to make into comprehensible half sentences. He's looking at me again with questioning eyes. "What kind of mutts?"

I shrug, spinning the glass of alcohol in front of me. "Cougars so they think they're their own. Draw the Keep's attention to the mountain, then there'll be less monitoring on the village. We could do the pod thing for the village too. But more harmless ones that won't kill anybody inside, just something to create a diversion so they think we're in areas that we're not. It'll probably keep the families safer since they'll go back into the safety of their homes. Then we make it underground." Pods rub me the wrong way. It's one thing to set up an ambush, but entire streets of them make me sick. Somehow Lennox has access to all sorts of technology that makes has the Keep on par with us.

Around the table people are nodding in assent. Paxton perks up.

"I've been thinking, if we raid the village, we should start in the center, destroy the main system underneath. Then we'll have others waiting on the far ends to finish off anyone driven outwards. That way we're guaranteed to pick off Lennox right away, or bring him to us. Destroy the base, and they'll have no where to go but to us."

Pine is scribbling our ideas on the paper furiously, and I have to admit I'm shocked my idea has received such a positive response. It's not solid, and everyone can see that, a lot of planning needs to be done before anything happens, but it's a step forwards. Glancing up at me, and then everyone else Pine begins voicing the gaps. "How should we set off the pods?"

"Nolan Day," Archer says. "He's got access to mostly everything."

The name doesn't ring a bell, but that could be because I'm one of the few people who've never been to the place.

"And how do we get underground?"

"Day," Archer provides again.

So this is it. My plan is going to be the one. Unless someone comes up with a new one… As Archer reads through the last few it's evident mine is the best option. I down the rest of my drink, realizing Paylor didn't say a thing. When my eyes wander to her position at the head of the table, I find that she's considering me carefully. We make eye contact again, but she only holds her gaze. At last she breaks it and speaks to the whole table, though the question is for me.

"The main purpose of this is to get rid of Lennox. What if he's not there?"

I should come up with an answer first, because I've designed the plan, but for some reason my mind's gone blank and I'm still staring uselessly at the President. Just as Paxton opens his mouth I'm smart again. "If everything goes right, we'll know where he is before. If not, there's only one other place he could be, so we'll have to act quickly on that before he can leave the mountains as well."

More writing from Pine, and from the corner of my eye I see Paylor's hand moving as well. Shortly after, she confirms that we'll meet again tomorrow to discuss this plan more so that we can make an agenda and schedule when and where certain things will be done. Everyone leaves swiftly, eager for some fresh air, or just to get out of the room. Everything's slowed down, and I'm still sitting once everyone but Archer, Paylor and Paxton have left. I gather I've missed instructions to stay, though I've unintentionally done exactly that.

"Gale?"

They're all looking to me expectantly.

"I can't do this right now."

I'm out the door before I can comprehend what's happening, and my feet carry me to my office where I collapse into my chair behind the desk. Then I have paper in front of me and I'm writing, and writing and writing. I've addressed it to no one, and as my hand flies to the top of the page, I'm torn between scribbling "Katniss" and "Rory".

Reading it again prompts me to put "Katniss" down. I've laid down everything in words; from watching Tupper die, to finding out Lennox was threatening Johanna, to the miscarriage two weeks ago to how I just whipped up another plan to deliberately end what could potentially become hundreds of lives. My hands refuse to fold it up and find something to send it in. We've sworn to secrecy for a reason. People can't know what we're doing. But it hardly seems fair that the entire country is oblivious to the danger posed by the Keep, especially if our plans fail and they continue growing in numbers. It's equally unfair, however, to ship all of this news off to Katniss who surely has her own things to worry about. I've barely talked to her in the past year, too. She's married I have to remind myself. Married to Peeta, and they're probably radiating with happiness, I can't bear the idea of taking that away from her.

Swallowing the lump forming in my throat, I'm forced to acknowledge again how different our lives are now. I can't tell her what's on my mind. It's wrong in so many ways. And I can't tell Johanna mostly because she's part of what's happened, and if she finds out what we're planning, she'll kill someone.

I don't really want to tell Katniss, or Rory now that I think about it. I don't know what I want. The only thing that's clear is that I'm so fucked up inside, and it's eating me up, and soon there won't be much of me left. Hunting doesn't even appeal to me. Maybe I just want to go back home, or what feels like home in this instant; the Seam. I want to joke with Posy and tease Rory and Vick and talk to my mother about anything. Life wasn't carefree, it was the furthest thing from carefree possible, but at least I wasn't winning approval for my creative methods of how to efficiently kill a handful of people.

"What's that?"

Archer's standing in my doorway, a grimace of concern on his face. "Gale, what're you writing?"

"Doesn't matter," I say gruffly. My hands shred the letter into hundreds of tiny pieces.

"You look awful," he says, raising his light eyebrows. As usual, he invites himself to sit across from me. "Well the facial hair makes you look less like an ape, but other than that…"

I'm touching the stubble on my face, realizing that I haven't shaved in a few days. Surely I've showered at least…

"We thought we had you back," he ventures carefully. "Paylor was saying how impressed she was then…"

"I am back," I mutter. Johanna was so sick. I couldn't leave her. It was only a few days, but she could hardly function. Hospitals have never been on my list of places to take someone, and never will be. No one knew she was sick. I stayed home for the week, like I had promised after the attack in the mountains. It would have been shorter had she not had the miscarriage. That's when I called someone. My extent of knowledge to help someone only pertained to flus, fevers and colds up to that moment in time. Then they kept her there for two nights because I told them about the breakdown/relapse and since everyone knows each other here, word got out fast that she was sick.

I still can't get my head around the fact that she was pregnant. Had I known, I would've gotten help sooner when she was sick. But we only suspected, and though they haven't said anything, I'm confident she lost the baby because I did get any help. Johanna said she didn't want another one yet, but I know that she would've gotten used to the idea if only it was confirmed. Anyways, two weeks have passed. I should be over it. When I was fourteen my father died one week, the next my mother had Posy and I managed to keep it all together.

That's who I need to talk to. My mother. Not about everything; I just need to remind myself she's there.

"Paylor's sorry for being such a bitch," Archer adds after a few moments of silence. His eyes wander around the room, anticipating my reaction.

"Is she? Then why can't she tell me herself?" I retort angrily. Since my mind has been so preoccupied, it's obvious to everyone the debate she's having with herself over whether I'm in suitable condition for the job ahead.

"I think she just doesn't understand why you're so torn up." Archer bites his lip as he lets this slip.

"She lost a kid, you'd think…"

"That's just it though. Her son was eight, while for you this was an unborn child. She doesn't get that you could actually feel something for a two month old fetus." Archer speaks from experience; early in their marriage Melaina lost a baby at five months.

"Whatever," I scoff. It really doesn't bother me to any extreme degree that Paylor's been acting to cold to me. It becomes silent for a while and I wonder why Archer's still here.

"I have to make a call," I decide quickly to ensure he hasn't become too comfortable in his seat. Thankfully he gets the message, and rises from his seat.

"See you tomorrow," he says brightly.

I grab the phone and wait anxiously for someone on the other end to pick up. Letters aren't fast enough for these kinds of things.

"Hello?"

My body relaxes suddenly; I hadn't realized how tense it was. "Hey," I reply.

"Gale? How are you? Is anything wrong? You never called back and I assumed you were busy with work…"

_Busy with work._ Three words as one phrase I never anticipated my own mother would say to me. Family was always first; I was busy with family before anything else. Now I have a different sort of family to look after, but it was only when my mother called last week that I realized how much I'd let everyone else slip away.

"I'm sorry I didn't call back. I've been working on this new project and Johanna got sick."

"How is she now?" My mother's voice isn't panicked, but there's an edge of concern floating in her words. "How's the baby?"

"Keidan's good, he's grown lots. Wait till you see him again…" I can't even remember the last time my family saw Keidan; I think it was weird for them, seeing that I have someone new to look after just like I looked after them.

"What happened to Johanna?" She asks softly, calmly, never the one to create a sense of urgency around a situation.

I'm tousling my hair before I notice it, some compulsive impulse I haven't been able to shake since the rebellion. "She had a miscarriage."

"A miscarriage? I'm so sorry, Gale." My mother confirms in the same gentle tone. If there's one thing that's held me together my whole life, it's her assured way of speaking. "I didn't know she was expecting."

Never had I ever experienced someone losing their baby first hand. The amount of blood surrounding Johanna when I found her was terrifying in itself, but the fact that you could see what would be our child coated and soaking in the thick scarlet liquid was the most disturbing. "We didn't know either, until it had happened."

"How far along was she?"

"Two months. She'd gotten all sorts of tests, some saying yes and others saying no. Then she got really sick, like that time last year, and… yeah, it happened. I'm sorry I never told you, but it wasn't for sure." In the back of my mind throughout the short pregnancy, I knew I should have told my mother; she would have known how to figure it out.

"Mrs. Everdeen would have been able to sort that out in a heartbeat; none of this technology nonsense," my mother announces, and I know she's right. She's always right.

Images of all the hormonal charts, and beeping machines flash through my mind; it really is nonsense. We almost had it better in Twelve without anything like this steering us away from natural medicine which has and always will be the best form.

"I know," I say quietly, tracing a pattern on the varnish of my wooden desk with my finger. "But I don't think we're ready for another baby. Kei's only eight months."

"I'd like to see him again soon. And you and Johanna as well," she muses and I laugh to myself. It's not often you'll hear anyone admitting to wanted to see Johanna. For Hazelle Hawthorne though, she finds a place in her heart for everyone. Especially Keidan. The moment she arrived here to see newborn Keidan, you'd think she could've died of happiness on the spot. I've only seen that look in her eyes when she had Rory, Vick and Posy and when she visited me in the hospital after the rebellion had ended; either she was thrilled it was over, or thrilled that I wasn't dead like everyone thought.

"I want to come home," I can't stop myself from spilling out the thoughts that have been welling up inside of me. "I miss it all so much. But I can't. At least not for a few months."

"Work…" she sighs, submitting to the reality that has become all to familiar between us. "Even when you worked in the mines I got to see you more. But I know it's important, and that I can't ask, so I won't. I just want you to be safe and happy, alright?"

My eyes have been so focused on the deep chestnut shade of the desk, that when movement outside of the office catches my attention, the natural light pooling in through windows around me is blinding. Paylor's outside, talking animatedly to Archer whose rolling his eyes dramatically. His words in the meeting earlier ring through my head, and a chuckle escapes me. _Mom_. The knack for making up ridiculous nicknames for everyone is one only Archer possess. He truly does act like she's his mother, just as she treats him as she might her son. Then he's throwing up his arms in protest and he stomps away like a child, face red in frustration. I remind myself that he's twenty-three, and closer to being a child than I am.

"I am mom," I assure her, averting my eyes the instant Paylor's icy glare turns to my office. Archer's clearly managed to piss her off just as much as she pissed him off. "But how are you guys?"

It turns out Rory has a girlfriend, one of the girls he's known forever from the Seam. Her sister was in my grade, and I'm pretty sure I hooked up with her once, but I don't share that fun fact with my mother. He's eighteen I figure out quickly, startled. Vick is fifteen and Posy is ten. I've seen them all at least once a year, but compared to seeing them everyday, and being more of a father than a brother to them, I feel like I haven't seen them in decades. Their life is so calm now, and I envy that there's almost nothing new that I haven't heard yet. My family can carry on like normal citizens a right we'd all been denied for so long, but it's evident in the excitement in my mother's tone that they appreciate where we've come from. "It's all the little things in life," she claims after filling me in.

Once we've hung up, I feel remarkably less stressed. A glance at the time shows me that it's four, and I really could go home. But I want to be alone right now. Just for another hour or two. To clear my head.

"Oh, Gale, if you're heading home could you _please_ remember to return that report tomorrow? Pine's asked for it a hundred times." Endlessly supplied with energy, Aysun makes bringing in a stack of papers sound as exciting as winning first place in a race. Her eyes light up as though she couldn't imagine anything better than filing a report. At least she's married, so I don't have to worry that she's obsessed with work because she's lonely.

"I'm going to the range, but will do," I reply with a smile. Chances are between all the guns I plan on testing, I'll forget.

* * *

><p>As I reach for the door handle, it's already swung open to reveal my wife in a light blue apron, holding Keidan on her hip and smiling brightly.<p>

"Hi!"

_What is going on …_

"Hi," I say evenly, pretending nothing is odd about her choice of clothing. She shifts away from the door and I step past her. "You're a chef now?"

Johanna's dark eyes narrow as she plops a very awake and alert Keidan into my arms. "I can cook." Her tone is irritated as though I should have realized such a thing earlier in our marriage.

My shoes come off and I peer into the kitchen to see her placing something piping hot into a dish. I'm about to enter to investigate, but something odd is on my hand as I shift Keidan into one arm. Flour. It could be from Johanna's hands, but it's all over his butt. "Were you sitting on the counter?" Keidan only squirms in my grip, eager to crawl around on the floor. I hold him tighter.

"No he wasn't!" Johanna answers too loudly and too quickly. "Why would you think that?"

I life the squirming baby up under the armpits as though showing him off to the world from on top of a mountain; his tiny hands grip my wrists, eager to be put down.

"Oh that's just from when I picked him up," Johanna assures me casually. If I were anyone else I might believe her.

"Mhmm," I say, quirking an eyebrow. I pull Keidan back to my chest. "You're mother is a dirty liar."

Johanna's heard because she scoffs loudly. "When was the last time you shaved?" _Seriously?_ Was everyone's goal for the day to remind me I haven't used a razor in a while?

"I don't know. I'll do it tonight." Again, I stroke the scruff curious as to how long it's been.

"Don't!" She protests, turning from a steaming dish of mystery food to face me. "It looks sexy."

I roll my eyes and head up the stairs. Kuma has apparently been asleep, but as one of the lower stairs creaks under my tread, he's suddenly at the top of the stairs, waiting to greet me. He jumps slightly in excitement, white fur floating around him with the movement. Clearly he's built for surviving the winter with that coat, but he also sheds enough to make a new dog everyday.

Carefully, I place Keidan on the ground and he zooms around the floor, ecstatic to have control over his own whereabouts. Kuma sees him and lies down, readying his head on his front paws, following Keidan protectively with his ice blue eyes. I'd continue watching, but a sudden rush of warm air reaches me from below.

"What did you say you were making?" I call down. It smells like freshly baked bread, and something even better.

"I didn't!"

"Well… what is it?" I pull my shirt off; keen to throw on a warmer sweater.

"Archer called to say you weren't exactly a ray of sunshine today…" Johanna begins.

"When am I ever a ray of sunshine..." I mutter loud enough for her to hear. He seriously phoned her? I should feel touched at his concern for my wellbeing, but I feel more violated than anything else.

"So I whipped something up. It'll be done in a few minutes."

To be honest, I'm half enthusiastic about the fact she's cooking something above her usual standard. As I grab a new sweater, I see that Keidan has curled up against Kuma on the ground, thick white fur trapped in Keidan's chubby hand. "What the hell is she making, guys?"

Neither of them provides me with a sufficient answer.

Still amused and mildly freaked out I move to the stairs without throwing on more clothing. "Have you always wanted to be a housewife?"

It takes Johanna a moment to answer. "Yes. It's been a dream of mine since I was five. I love staying in one place and cooking and cleaning…"

"How about you get on that cleaning part tomorrow?"

"Har har. You're hilarious, Hawthorne." Another cloud of kitchen fumes fills the air and I'm drawn a few steps down the stairs. In what life does Johanna make such delicious smelling food?

"What the fuck is that?" I ask, drawing in a deep breath through my nose. Warmth fills my body.

"Huh?" Johanna pivots to face me on the stairs, mouth full of something. "I'd say it smells good, but whatever."

I shake my head quickly. "It smells amazing," I comment dreamily as I imagine biting into some juicy steak. As I draw nearer I realize Johanna's clasping a wooden stirring spoon in one hand. Some deep red sauce covers it and I pluck it from her hands, licking it clean. Her lips part to yell at me but I hold up a hand. The world stops for a moment. It's like gravy, but with a rich berry flavor. It tastes like comfort in winter; it takes like sitting beside a fireplace; it tastes like the most amazing thing I've ever had.

I consider my wife for a moment, studying her messy loose bun, flushed red cheeks and little apron. She actually looks damn sexy. After stealing back the spoon and washing it, she returns to her work, dissatisfied with my lack of response. I can't help myself from sliding in behind her, placing my hands on her slim frame. Under my touch I feel her shiver, and I'm instantly turned on.

She continues stirring, but her mind is clearly preoccupied with my half naked body wrapped around her. "Stop it."

"Stop what?" I ask innocently.

"Stop making me so horny," she hisses.

Unable to resist the temptation, my hands tighten around Johanna, hands slipping under the apron. She stops cooking altogether, freezing as my fingers play along the waistline of her pants. Teasingly, they slide beneath it, moving down, down, down… Then she squirms and drops the spoon with a gasp. After being married for four years, I've really figured out her sensitive spots. My finger tips ghost along her pelvis until finally she's spun around.

"If we don't do this _right _now, I'll die."

Oh no. This was supposed to be a tease. _Don't hesitate_, I tell myself since Johanna will picked up on the pause, and find something to yell about. Somehow I've managed to make her want to fuck me in the middle of the kitchen, and I'd rather stick to this than have her screaming. Well, that kind of screaming…

It only takes seconds for me to maneuver Johanna against the counter that's already dusted with the same flour that attached itself to Keidan. Since my hands are already down her pants, I slink them off easily as our mouths locked together. Suddenly, I'm stepping out of my own pants so that I'm stark naked in the middle of the kitchen. Last time we had sex in the open, Archer barged in, and I'm half expecting him to show up again. Tearing my mind from such an awful thought, my grip moves to Johanna's thighs and since I'm pushing her so firmly against the counter, we manage to get her hips hitched around mine. She's practically sitting on top of the counter when a relentless beeping begins. Our mouths disengage and she's leaning backwards, considering me with a grin. "That escalated quickly." She hits some timer on the stove. "Foods ready."

Chuckling at how passionate we became in less than a minute, we step back into our clothes, and then we're sitting down.

"Where's Kei?" She asks. I can't stop myself from smiling, wondering how its possible to go from kitchen sex one minute, to sitting down to eat talking about our child.

"Curled up with Kuma. Holy shit, Jo," I groan, popping a piece of perfectly juicy red meat into my mouth. "What did you make?"

She smiles proudly, beaming at herself over preparing such a successful meal. "Carbiou from the butcher, and the sauce has some weird berries. Apparently they're an aphrodisiac, so I got them."

They're probably not, and she's made it up to get me worked up again. It's silent except for our chewing, and my occasional moan of delight. I consume most of the meal in about five minutes.

"Know what you need?" Johanna asks, flicking her fork at me from across the table.

"Sex," I answer quickly.

"Well, yeah, but not what I meant."

"What then?" I really don't want to hear her suggest something else at the moment.

"To loosen up. Get wasted." Then a mischievous smirk spreads across her face. "Johanna Mason wasted."

From what I've seen first hand on multiple incidents, I have no intention of ever being that drunk. Its called Johanna _Mason_ wasted because it's up to the standard of her youthful drinking experiences. Lot's of alcohol, embarrassment, vomiting and the worst hangover of life. No grown human would ever get that inebriated without planning very carefully to do just that. "Intriguing. But no."

"Too bad Archer's coming at nine to take us to the bar, and Melaina's going to look after Keidan."

I drop my fork. It's a Wednesday; I have to be working by nine in the morning. There's no way I'm going. A glance at Johanna tells me I really don't have a choice.

"We'll have fantastic drunk sex after," she promises. Sighing heavily I hold up my glass of water, relenting. Johanna copies me. "To being Johanna Mason wasted."

"Johanna Mason wasted," I mutter as our glasses collide in a toast. In one shot I take down the water, knowing that I don't fully understand what I'm getting myself into.

* * *

><p><strong>Thoughts? I hope it was good since I wrote it in such a short period of time, but I had to get it up to say I'd posted a chapter from Italy. Also, there's a sort of playlist for the story, a song or two for each chapter on my profile, check it out if you like weird indie music like me. There's two songs for the epilogue up, so maybe they have you guessing as to where the stories headed. The end is still many chapters away though. Again, lemme know what you think, its greatly appreciated.<strong>


	12. Autumn Three: Part Three

**Three cheers for updates! Three cheers for all those favourites, alerts and reviews!**

**Alright, you better like it, I worked pretty hard, even got my creative side engaged. **

**It's got hangovers, mission planning and even a taste of Johanna's games! **

**ENJOY**

* * *

><p>Shots. So many shots. Red ones. Purple ones. Black ones. Surely black alcohol shouldn't be served to anyone wanting to survive to the next day. I couldn't have gotten <em>this<em> hammered off of just shots.

Nope.

There was beer. I suddenly have a hazy recollection of a pitcher of beer being slammed before me. Then more jumbled images. Johanna racing me to drink the whole thing…

What the hell?

I had whiskey too? Yes, yes I did. That's how I eased myself into the shots.

Slowly, and painfully I turn my head sideways, staring up at a clock on the wall. I tried to get changed, I really did. But my head's never felt heavier, I've never felt the blood pulse through every vein and artery in my brain before. Getting to the dresser wasn't an option. Sitting on the cold wood floor seemed a much better alternative. But now I'm lying down, staring at the clock's strict hands. It's ten. I was supposed to be at work an hour ago.

Why the fuck did I let this happen?

How does any human being desire to be this wasted?

I'm still intoxicated, there's no way the alcohol is all out of my system. It's not like I haven't been this drunk in my life, I have, especially after the rebellion, but you have to do it on a regular basis for it to be less agonizing. Considering the four or so years it's been, I'm doing well.

Okay. I can do this. Just ease yourself up, Gale. It's easy. If Keidan can sit up by himself, so can you. But it's not that easy. My arms don't want to move.

Then there's a shrill wail from the staircase.

"Johanna," I moan almost inaudibly.

Then there's shushing and the baby howls quiet down.

"When are you going to come down, honey?"

I'm going to kill her. I'm actually going to march down there and throttle her or do something equally violent. Her voice makes my head spike with pain as though someone's hammering hundreds of nails into my skull at once.

Flashes of her pouring shots down her throat like water play in my head. How is she not destroyed?

It takes five minutes, but I'm finally standing, holding the railing of the balcony over looking the living room for support. I'm going to throw up again. There's no two ways about it. Somehow my feet fly me to the bathroom and liquid sloshes up from inside of me. At least it's not black anymore. I had alcohol poisoning, no doubt. But I found a glass of water when I woke up, and have chugged back a few since. How the hell am I going to walk into work like this?

Forty-five minutes. That's how long it takes me to have a shower and gather some of my bearings. Clothes are finally on my body, and I realize why I was naked up until now. How the fuck did we manage to have sex? Or maybe the closest we got was taking our clothes off. I stumble down the stairs, nearly plunging down them all multiple times. When I hit the bottom stair, my head spins and I grunt, leaning against a wall.

"How was your sleep?" Johanna asks me before I can even focus on where she is in the room. Blinding light pours in from the window behind her, and I can only see her silhouette. It's fall. It's should be gloomy. Not sunny. _Why is it sunny?_

I can't handle the glare and clamp my eyes shut. "Sleep was beautiful. Get me some water…"

The incessant hammering in my skull forces me to find a seat on the couch beside the staircase and as Johanna responds I officially decide she's on the one across from me.

"Want some of the…"

"No." The words are out before I process what she's saying. Anything Johanna's offering me for a hangover won't work. I found that out when I was less drunk, less hung over. "Water."

It's simple enough to hold Keidan while you get water, I do it more often then not, but Johanna hands me the baby as I slink down in the couch so that my head and feet are reaching opposite ends. I maneuver Keidan so he can lie down on my chest, and hold him somewhat securely so he doesn't wander off the edge. He's curious about my state, and his hand flies around in front of my face. The pulsation in my head grows. My eye shuts.

This is going to take forever to stop. I can't go in for the meeting that I've already missed half of. Most of me wants to stay home for the rest of the day, not have to face Paylor. Oh no…

Oh no… No. No.

She's going to cut me from the mission.

Fuck.

No.

Shit. How could I be so irresponsible, letting myself get to the point at such an imperative time in the planning stage?

"Keidan, what should I do?" I ask the baby in a whisper, eyes closed. It's time like this I wish he could talk, and just say anything because toddlers have a way of telling it like it is; making us see the light. Posy was always like that. And I think Rory and Vick, but I can't remember. It runs in our blood, Keidan's bound to have a child's insight. I could tell Johanna, but then she'd get asking about the mission and that will go nowhere good fast…

My eyelids split slowly, painfully as the light through the window intensifies on where I've made my bed. Keidan is staring at me intensely with his molten grey eyes, cheeks rosy, absolutely undeniably adorable. I take that back about him talking; I don't want him to grow up.

Johanna slides a glass of water into my hand and I chug it down quickly, holding it out for her to refill.

"I'm not your bitch, get it yourself," she replies testily. The stairs creak and she's suddenly disappeared, leaving my half drunken ass on the couch, holding an empty glass, with a baby relaxing on my chest. The shower turns on a few minutes later and I sigh heavily. My head, the sound of blood rushing around in my ears, drowns the noise of water out from upstairs.

At least I'm too valuable to lose. I can't lose my job, but I can lose what I've worked for. It's impossible to describe how much I want to go, and kill Lennox. That's what I want. He's my target. Not the Keep. _Him_. _I_ have to kill him. I'll never forget when I told Katniss killing someone couldn't be so different from killing an animal. Maybe for other people it's harder, but the action is so simple. It's the same, it's the exact same thing especially when you realize that someone deserves to die; it drives you to be the cause of their death. During the rebellion, I had no problem killing anyone that proved to be a threat. It caught up to me in the months afterwards; when you're going through the actions you don't think about the consequences. You do what feels right, what will get you back to your family. This will track me down, killing Lennox. It'll come back to bite me emotionally, and maybe physically, particularly because I know I can't solely kill him; to get to him, tens, maybe hundreds have to die. But that's the price we all have to pay. And there's no other alternative. You can't imprison people that intend to disrupt newly restored order. They'll fight to the death; death is the only way to end this.

Yesterday I lost it because I realized what I was doing; but that's what happens after you've fought in a war, and your mental state is constantly questioned. But these moments of clarity remind me why I'm doing this, and why I've done it in the past.

This is what conflict is; what is has been since the beginning of time. Either they kill us all, or we kill all of them; but we're all avid fighters, both dying and living for what we believe in. Believers don't stop believing until they die, but it doesn't matter how much you trust in something, it relies on how hard you're willing to battle for it.

* * *

><p>They've held the meeting until I arrived. Which is at four in the afternoon. Archer called to tell me to come when I was ready… something in his tone gave me the idea Paylor thinks my mental breakdown's extended into today. No one says anything to me as I make my way to the meeting room, nursing my still tender head; they must all be in the dark about how drunk I got. Even Aysun stops herself halfway through reminding me about some reports I was supposed to bring. They would make me laugh, the expressions everyone wears as I pass by; both terrified and sympathetic, but laughter makes your head spin and throb when attempting to mask a hangover.<p>

"Nice of you to show up."

The sensation of eyes on your body is unmistakable. It makes you pause, your breath hitch, and muscles tense, even if you want to ignore them. Which is what I do. My own eyes lock on an open chair and nothing else and I half drunk shuffle half sober walk to it, taking care to focus simply on the task at hand. Eyes are still locked on me, their silent penetration beginning to become invasive. Everyone seems to be expecting me to do something…

"Gale," Paylor says, her chair rolling on the floor as she rises. I bring my gaze up. "I'd like to introduce you to Abram Wrath. He'll be one of the lead pilots for the mission."

Pilots? Right. This is much bigger than just us on the ground carrying through instructions.

Standing two people down from Paylor, between Archer and Pine is a man with incredibly dark skin, which isn't strange to see outside of District 11 anymore. I think I've worked with him before, but I can't remember. I nod my head carefully in acknowledgement and both him and the president take their seats. I try to make eye contact with Archer, communicate my thanks for him making some wild excuse for me, but the lights are glaringly bright and make my eyes ache as I look up. Instead I stare at a blank piece of paper I've found before me.

"Any questions about where we are?" Paylor asks, impatience thick in her voice. My head shakes slowly.

"Just continue," I mumble, my own voice attacking my skull.

They were discussing numbers, which are things I've never really cared for. The number of agents going, the number of planes or hovercrafts needed, the number of arms, the number of mutts… and on and on it goes. Unintentionally, I tune out, and tell myself to tune back in but it doesn't happen until someone says my name.

At some point, Archer's slipped into the seat beside me, and casually nudges my arm, nodding towards a sheet of paper with his familiar scrawl on it. My headache has mostly subsided; it's turned from surging, crashing, frothing tides of pressure to gentle light sprays. He's taken note of everything that has been discussed.

Suddenly my brain is whirring into action, a blurred image of last night skirts around in my head. Johanna, the pressure of the bar against my back, her lips… Archer's voice. It's a warble, but I peek around Johanna and see him on a stool, Melaina's legs exposed fully, hitched around him. His fingers grasp at the fabric of her dress over her pregnant belly. People cheer like it's some competition. They were making out harder than a pair of horny sixteen year olds. But wait… wasn't Melaina taking care of Keidan? Where was he…? Well he was alive this morning…

"So when is this shit going down?" Archer asks brazenly, snapping me from the uncomfortable recollection. His pen is slapping in the palm of his hand impatiently. All eyes flash to him, expressions varying from amused to disgruntled. He leans back in his chair. "I mean, we've got an outline, but when is it happening?"

A huff of a chuckle breezes out of my mouth. We don't have a date… Leave it to us to forget about a date.

"Well," Paylor begins. "It's October…"

"Fifth," four voices provide in unison.

"Lennox hates winter," Archer pipes up, eyebrows raised. "I vote January or February. Gives us enough time for planning, and it'll be the coldest then."

"Keidan's one mid February," I add. "I'd like to not be on a mission for that."

Archer smacks the table, remembering something suddenly. "Melaina's due in February. Can't remember the date. So not then."

It doesn't surprise me that Archer's forgotten the due date of his second child.

"Mid January?" Paylor asks everyone who shrugs and agrees. "Any other personal matters in January?" A few agents look ready to share, but the condescending sharpness in Paylor's tone has made them think twice.

I better not die. Archer better not die. Maybe we should do it in March, after Melaina has the baby and Keidan turns one. If something goes wrong…

"The decoy needs to be set up five to ten minutes before we start setting off pods," Pine adds. "It could take anywhere from a few minutes to hours to hit the center, and disable the whole underground system. But I say the whole thing takes five hours at most. So why not pick a tentative date?"

"Fifteenth," Destera offers. Eyes question her. "It's in the middle. Things will have calmed down after the New Year."

Somehow it seems odd, that through everything, the New Year has always been celebrated. In the seam we had a big party, even though everyone had to go back to the mines and school the next day. I've learned the Capitol festivities are much grander and span a few days. Here, apparently each town has their own way of celebrating, and I've discovered over the years here that it includes lots of drinking and dancing all in the main square. Drinking… I've done enough of that to last me four new years.

Archer nods. "Fifteenth it is. It has to be done early in the morning, when they least except it."

"They change watches at three," someone provides down the table. "If we target the initial attack during the switch, no one will be prepared for it."

"Perfect!" Archer grins. "That way we can all be get back here at a reasonable time for a victory drink."

Uneasiness fills the room, nervous laughter drifting through it, bodies stiffening. People are going to die on this. There's no way everyone will come back. And what if we're not victorious? What if we all get captured, or blown up or shot? The only person left from this room could be Paylor. Her mouth is set in a straight line and she's giving a slight terse shake of her head, riled by Archer's boldness.

It's silent for a long moment, people milling over the varying scenarios in their heads. Everyone's picturing the potential ways to die in their head.

"How are we actually going to accomplish this?" I ask, shattering the quiet. My eyes wander to each face around the room. "We've got a rough outline of what we want to do, but how are we actually penetrating the city, getting the mutts to attack their mutts?"

"You're the brains," Paylor says easily nodding to Archer, Paxton and I. Paxton shifts with anticipation, Archer looks proud of himself, but I only feel dread. I'm hungover as fuck, and not in the mood to be the 'brains' of anything.

The meeting goes late into the night, past nine thirty. We've pulled in an expert of something that knows how to make the mutts. Our planning hasn't moved past that stage, since they need to be made and tested before we can really figure anything else out.

That takes a week. By the end of the creation of the cougars, Sim, the expert on these matters, and I have spent more time together than I have with Johanna and Keidan. They're perfect, but terrifying. A glance would show that they're just cougars. Studying them would prove to you that they're nearly as tall as a human, jaws the size of my head. Though they're meant to wreak so much havoc, any ISA agent can pet them, or speak to them as you would a household pet. When put in a room with another engineered animal, a smaller cougar, more alike to the one's that the Keep as created; they tear the animal to shreds.

The plan is to release one hundred of these, in waves of ten every two minutes. Where I was attacked is where the cougar's domain ended. Ours will be released where Tupper was killed, and they've been programmed to travel to a certain coordinate, the entrance of the mountain hide out, and destroy anything in their paths. Like normal animals, they can be killed with bullets and knives, but that's the point. The Keep is supposed to question if they're engineered or not. And then be distracted from what's going on in their village by doing so.

Once we've completed this aspect, we pick our full teams. Thirty agents to each team, including our first and second commanders, but not including Archer, Paxton and I. That is ninety-three agents. There's a total of five hundred sixty eight in the ISA; if we all die the force is depleted by nearly a sixth.

Three weeks are spent planning the raid portion of the mission. Six hours a day in a meeting room, an hour testing weapons, an hour training.

The village's layout is rather straightforward. Situated for the most part in a circle, sixteen outposts containing four Keep members at a time protect it. These are each one-mile from any building that is a part of the village. These outposts are small huts that look like houses but are rigged with explosives. This is why getting into the village during the switch is essential. Paxton's team and mine will be dropped a few miles outside the southern most part of town. This will be the simplest part since we know that they don't have any hovercrafts or planes, and don't have any technology to keep watch of their airspace. Archer's will be opposite us, at the northern tip.

There's a main passage into the underground system, which is a butcher in the middle of town. The butcher himself is a member of the Keep, and does not have any family, but will surely be keeping guard in his shop. Archer and five others are going to reach the shop. The village itself is unprotected since entering is so difficult, and reaching the butcher's will not be challenging. He'll be an easy kill, since he's the only one ever there at night. Pine created some gadgets, which have the ability to cut the power within a one-mile radius for however long. Each group will have three, so that we can sneak past the outposts and their detectors. Then we rely on hope. We hope the guards will blame the lack of power on the cold weather, which causes many outages every winter across Two. Even so, we have enough manpower to kill any guards faster than they can figure out that we're more than a rabbit running through their trap if it came to that. The idea is for all of us to pass through during the third wave of mutts, before any pods are set off.

As the seventh group of mutts are released, with us safely within the village and once Archer's whole team has worked their way into the center of town, we'll blow the outposts sky high. All are rigged for a chain reaction, so with one click of a button, each will be gone in second. We'll have Sim here in the ISA building, plus a few selected others to monitor the mission, and blow up outposts for us. A spy, whose name I've never paid much attention to, will rig up each outpost. She's an engineer for the Keep, and has to do weekly checks on each hut.

From there, at three-minute intervals, the pods will begin to go off, around the outer most parts of town, moving slowly inwards. Half of my team and half of Paxton's will enter the underground tunnels through other entrances in abandoned houses around the town. With all the chaos, the Keep will assume we're on every side of the town, working towards the center. Disappointment is an understatement of how they'll feel when they've discovered the trap, and that Archer and the others have penetrated the hold beneath their feet. Nolan Day is a member of the Keep, whose really a spy for us, and has confirmed that he's figured out a way to control the pods without being caught. He's built up enough trust with Lennox to have a top position, and will most likely not be under suspicion when something goes awry. He's also working towards gassing the whole system, to knock out the Keep, but there's only so much he can do at once. If Day can figure out a method of accomplishing this as well, it will only made our odds of success even higher.

By that point half of us will be in the village, the other half waiting the just within the border to oppose the waves of Keep members that will surely be drawn out by the pods and destruction of the posts. The remainder of us will hold off any attack that may occur above ground. There's no saying how long it will take to disable the base underground, but since many of the Keep will have been sleeping, it won't be difficult to blast the center apart quickly, and move back to the outer edges. If all goes according to plan, we'll reach our drop zones, and fly back here to have our victory drink.

November arrives faster than anyone wants it to. There are big countdown screens in the meeting room we use everyday, in the shooting range, and in the changing rooms we use for training. Archer reads it out with excitement, but that majority of us use it to clock the number of days we might have to live. There are so many loopholes, so many things that could go wrong but that you have to hope don't. It's the same for every mission, you have to pour every ounce of your being into doing your job and praying the rest turns out as its supposed to. The number of variables you cannot control in these situations is unbearable. They weigh us all down, it's clear. We joke about things going wrong, but know in the back of our minds that there's a fifty-fifty chance it could happen. This insufferable weight will only be lifted when we're there, successfully moving from one stage to the next with no hiccups.

Every step of the training we do is deliberate and carefully planned out. Right now we're training in our teams, to get used to each other and form the cohesiveness needed to work as a unit. Later, we'll stage different circumstances that may arise. I quickly become fitter and stronger than I ever remember, my previous training in the rebellion nothing compared to what I do now. I know it's all for a mission that will take a few hours, but the cold slows everything down considerably, and all of our bodies have to move as though it's a perfectly warm spring day.

Time to myself is minimal, but today I've found it. Tomorrow we begin the situational sessions, and we've been decided it was tolerable to have a day dedicated to rest.

My feet crunch last nights fresh snow pack, but the sound isn't loud enough to scare animals away. The light sprinkle of snow falling paired with the snow on the ground absorbs most of the sound anyways. I've always prided myself on my stealth, and I'd forgotten how good I was at moving without making any noise until someone brought it up a week or two ago. Looking down at the ground I realize I could lay traps, but they may be buried by tomorrow, the animals in them frozen.

Fingering the bow in my hand I find myself wishing arrows were more advantageous in warfare; there's something comforting in the way you guide an arrow back on the string and then to its release; the whispering whiz of the feathers slicing through the air; the delicate thud of the head finding it's target. It soothes me. It reminds be to slow my breathing, to relax my muscles. It tells me that in this moment, everything is right in the world. I'd be perfectly happy doing this forever.

Rabbits and elk are the easiest kills in winter. Most things are hibernating, but rabbits come out, and their tracks are so simple to follow. The same go for elk, and they move considerably slower in the cold than in the spring. I take down two rabbits, but decide not to let the arrow fly when an elk stands ten yards from me in an opening. It's too much effort to haul, and its not like I need the meat. I clean out the rabbits here, because Johanna hates when I do it at home. One of them, I decide to cook. My stomach rumbles and I hadn't noticed the empty sensation filling it. The fire sends warmth through my fingertips as I sit on a bed of evergreen branches. I wonder briefly if there's anyone who lives like this, who doesn't have a sense of what society is, or towns or cities. If they live off the land, in a shelter of some sort that they've built themselves.

Above the canopy, the grey sky takes on a shade of pale pink and I realize I've been out for hours. Johanna was painting one of the rooms, the one Keidan will have when he's older, but she's probably noticed that I'm still gone.

I kick snow over the tiny pile of kindling that was my fire and steam rises up. I haven't been this calm in weeks. This is so right. But I have to return to reality at some point, and preferably before dusk.

Johanna's nowhere to be seen when I enter. Relief floods me; no screeching. But something's not right. The house too much to silent for my liking. Then I hear a crashing from the far room down the hallway. The door has been flung open faster then I realize I'm staring at Johanna, sitting calmly against the wall, her eyes glued to something on the opposite wall.

"I made the first kill you know," she says calmly. My heart hammers violently in my chest. I thought… I don't know what I thought…

We have one television that only comes out of the wall if you press a certain button somewhere. I use it maybe twice every five months. Johanna uses it more than I do since she's officially dubbed herself a housewife. But it's out now, and the rooms only half painted. The movement on the screen is too much for me to process.

"And then she made the second kill," she points. Now I understand. It's her games. The beginning. The clashing I heard was Johanna scrambling around the cornucopia. I've seen it enough times to remember that she was the fastest of all the tributes. "The sponsors should've started lining up for us right then. Two girls from two useless districts beginning the bloodshed. It was quite original really…"

"Don't tell me you're doing this." I'm shaking my head, pushing on my eyes. "You're just going to upset yourself."

"You can leave or have a seat," she says, peeling her eyes away from the bloodbath on screen. I slide onto the ground next to her. She pats my arm affectionately. "That's what I thought."

On screen, Johanna buries a hatchet into one of the Career's head. Beside me, her jaw twitches. "That's why they all came after me. Cause I killed their leader right off the mark."

The surprise on the living tributes faces is unmistakably. No one had anticipated Johanna would actually be able to kill someone, let alone a Career. The commentators state their own shock.

"I don't believe it! _I do not believe it_!" Claudius Templesmith gasps. "Did you see that? Johanna Mason's leading the pack with three kills and we're only five minutes into the Games! Who would have guessed? I bet any sponsors who had put their faith in Olsen Tills are regretting that decision as we – and oh look at that, the other tributes from One and Two have taken hold of the Cornucopia."

Johanna's bolted off into the distance, the area a flat expanse of deciduous trees. The Gamemakers made this one quite beautiful, the shades of fall filling the entire arena. The end of the Games left no leaves on the trees and there was no such thing as a hiding spot. Never have I seen this with Johanna beside me; I've watched it on my own a few times, but only because I've tried to figure out what was going on in her head during it. Now as she sits perfectly still beside me, it's more difficult than other to understand what she was feeling.

It's strange how alike her tactic was to Katniss'. Johanna stayed in trees; light enough to do so even in the ones that looked like they would buckle under her weight. She hunted with knives and axes mostly, and if she found someone, she killed them. If they were sleeping, like one girl from Ten, she passed by, undetected.

On the sixth day, she tracks down the Careers who have figured out what a threat she truly is. I remember Paylor and I having a conversation about this moment, the morning I woke up after the cougar attack. Something about Johanna being pissed…

The Careers haven't lost anyone except for the guy Johanna killed, and include the girl from One and both of the tributes from Two and Four. In classic Johanna fashion, she taunts them from behind, dares them to come closer. They do, and the boy from Two orders the others not to attack. He touches her… The tape flicks to another Tribute by a stream, dead from some sort of poison in the water. Censorship at its finest… kill one kid so you don't have to watch another do something inappropriate.

Then it flicks back to Johanna whose punched the guy in the face, and thrown a knife in each tribute from Four before the others react. Even though she's seventeen here, and running on adrenaline and fury, she's a skilled killer, as though she's trained her whole life. I glance down at her as she laughs lightly to herself on screen whose backing off from the remaining Careers, telling them to make a move. If she weren't my wife, if I didn't love her as much as I do, I'd want her to be an agent. I'd like to see what she could do on a mission such as the one coming up…

"That's how Finnick and I met," Johanna recalls. "I killed both kids from Four faster than he could blink. He genuinely congratulated me after, said the boy was an arrogant asshole and he…"

Her voice trails off when she notices how I'm studying her. "What?"

"Nothing."

These Games lasted a week and a half. With two days to go, Johanna gets an arrow in the leg courtesy of the girl from Two who has decent aim with the weapon. Johanna doesn't kill her, but a rampant grizzly which has killed three tributes does the job and waits under a tree for Johanna. She breaks the shaft off the arrow, but leaves the head in because she hasn't got anything to stop the bleeding.

"Give me some damned bandages and I'll take it out," she hisses to the sky. She had sponsors. In fact, the announcers can hardly contain their excitement over how many sponsors her and the girl from Nine are racking in. Nothing comes, and she stays in the tree for a few hours, cursing at the sky, and the bear and herself. Three crackers are her only rations, along with a canteen devoid of water. Eventually, she decides to use her last knife to get rid of the bear. It never stops watching her, but it doesn't move as the knife sinks into its neck and its roars in agony. Within moments its dead, and Johanna eases herself to the forest floor. Blood coats the fallen leaves that make up the ground, and she slips, unable to put any weight on her one leg. She looks feral as she studies the bear from the ground.

The knife turns out to be Johanna's saving grace, as she uses it to take a chunk of meat from the bear. Night comes and goes, and there are four tributes left. Two boys and two girls, all from different districts. The day is unbearably hot, but Johanna doesn't move. She's sent a small care package of water, but doesn't drink it. The bear begins to rot, and as the chunk of meat she's cut out begins to go rancid, she tosses it a few feet away. Within minutes, small rodents gather around it, and a vulture intends on feeding on the bear. With a toss of her knife she's kill the bird, and begins a tiny blaze from dead leaves. The water disappears into her mouth alongside the bird and she musters the strength to move along.

"I think I was delusional," Johanna says dryly. "I could've found some other way of getting food."

Personally, I thought it was incredibly intelligent. I'm about to voice my thoughts, but a battle on screen takes my attention away. The tribute from Two who had practically felt up Johanna is battling the girl from Nine; the one who got the second kill and eventually loses the games to Johanna. They're in the Cornucopia, and she's pinned him to the ground. She's fifteen the girl, and looks about thirteen. There doesn't seem to be any muscle in her body, but she's got a knack for shadowing people and killing them when they least expect it. Which is what she's doing here… the boy begins to push her back, but as his fist collides with her chest, she's slashed a knife across his throat and is dead within a minute.

The remaining boy tribute from Five has only made it to the end because of his ability to hide, and only kill when necessary. None of the favorites made it this year. He stumbles upon Johanna, who has dipped her leg in the poisonous stream.

"You know someone died from drinking that," he says to her from behind. "It's probably not good for your wound."

Johanna's got the knife in her hand. "It numbs it."

"Don't worry, I'm not killing you. You're pretty smart you know. That whole stupid girl façade was great," he pipes loudly. He doesn't move, knowing Johanna will gladly kill him if he pushes forwards.

"Ugh," the Johanna beside me moans. "I thought he was attractive then… definitely delusional."

The Johanna on screen watches him cautiously. "You should leave. I don't really want to kill you. I'd rather she does it."

He shrugs. "I'm hoping she kills you so I don't have to."

"Maybe I'll call her?" Johanna suggest with a laugh. "Then she can decide who she wants to finish off first."

The boy is suddenly taking off his shirt. "Nah. I'm dead anyways…" The initial shock of burrowed arrowhead in his stomach takes my breath away. I'd forgotten… he took an arrow from the same girl as Johanna. "Does it really help?" He nods to the water.

Johanna's eyes grow wide. "Yeah, except I don't think it'll work the same way for you."

He gives her a grin, and then wades into the water. "Good." It seems strange now that the gamemakers didn't stop him from taking his own life; usually they'd have created some sort of water creature to swallow him whole. But the boy from Five kneels down so the water licks along his wound. He swallows, and then plunges himself into the stream, and shudders into death a moment later.

Now Johanna takes my hand. It slides across the floor and latches onto mine. But she won't look at me; her chocolate eyes are glued to the television.

The blast of the cannon stops the other girl in her tracks as she wanders around the forest.

Night falls faster than is should, and Johanna hasn't moved since the body was plucked from the stream. For the first time throughout the entire competition she seems confused; her eyes dart to the stream as though wondering if she should do just as the boy had. The sky shows Nine that she and Johanna are the final competitors, but rather than rushing to find Johanna, she makes her way back to the Cornucopia and falls asleep. Johanna does the same against a barren tree.

"Let's turn it off," I suggest quickly. I don't think I'll be able to watch what happens next.

"You can't watch this much and then just turn it off," Johanna declares, irritated. "It's not that bad, I made it through, didn't I?"

The commentators discuss the two remaining tributes time in the arena, recalling their favorite moments dramatically. Johanna's aroused by the pain in her leg, and she limps back to the stream, numbing it, apparently having decided not to kill herself. The other girl wakes up screaming in a panic, but then calms herself down.

"Just kill her," she mutters to herself. "Today you kill her. Today you go home."

She packs her weapons, which include an axe, two knives and a bow with three arrows. She's not much of a shot, but she finished off one girl from close range with them. Johanna decides to make her way upstream to a thicket of bushes where she had earlier found edible berries. None are left though, and she swears profusely.

"Why don't you just kill me know?" She bellows. "That's what you want right? Just to kill me as –"

They cut her off, but I remember her tirade from the live Games. She'd gone on for a minute or two, and that's why Snow ordered her mother's "accidental" death during the Victory Tour.

Unfortunately, the sound of her voice echoes through the stark forest and Nine begins running. Johanna hears her at the last second, but the girls already sent an arrow into Johanna's stomach. Nine never talks to her kills, she barely spoke a word throughout the whole thing. But she laughs at Johanna; begins cackling as though possessed by something entirely demonic. Johanna stares at the arrow for a moment, and tugs it out, sinking to the ground. The other girl is too busy laughing to realize Johanna's used her last bit of strength to give her knife a solid throw. It finds home in the girl's gut and the laughter reaches its conclusion. Somehow, throughout the laughter she's loaded the bow and releases another arrow, which hits Johanna just above the other drenched wound. With a shaky hand Johanna extracts the arrow and collapses on the ground. Nine falls on her knees, but touches her fingers curious to the puckered scarlet skin. But before she can take another breath her body tremors once, a cannon sounding before her lifeless body meets the ground. Johanna had dipped the knife in the river to clean it after the bear.

"Did you do that on purpose?" I ask her curiously.

"Nope," Johanna says shortly. "It's weird that the mutt saved my life."

Another tiny rebellion. She's used the Capitol's creation to her advantage, and in the end it meant her surviving.

"You're going on a mission, aren't you."

The sudden change in subject takes me by surprise. I stare at the empty room before me, ready to deny it. What's the point? "Yeah."

Johanna gently slides her hand out of mine and rises, as though she hadn't just relived this entire traumatic experience. "It's dangerous."

There's nothing to do but nod.

"You think you're going to die," she says bluntly.

"Like you said, it's dangerous." Johanna's eyes are holding onto mine, intense with fear, and I can't bring myself to lie. "Yeah. I might."

It's silent for a moment except for the applause in the background from the television. Johanna sighs and bites her lip. Her mouth opens, but then clamps shut. Brown eyes hold mine.

"Jo," I reach up towards her, my hand grazing her hip as she strides from the room, leaving me alone with her crumpled, dying, blood soaked body on the screen.

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><p><strong>So, did you like it? I did. I had so much fun writing it, creating Jo's games in my head. Anyways, there's so many of you who have me and this story on alerts and favourites, and I don't get reviews from you guys! I'd love to know why you like the story! I really like to hear anything anyone has to say about it, so please let me know! Maybe we can get to 100 reviews with this chappie? Maybe? Wink wink nudge nudge...<strong>

**Thanks for reading! **


	13. Winter Four: Part One

**So, it's been a while. But school and exams are all done, so don't worry, there won't be another wait that is so long. Plus, after this, things really begin to pick up. **

**It's a bit long, I was considering breaking it into two smaller chapters, but then it didn't flow as well. **

**Thank you all for the wonderful reviews, and hopefully you forgive the delay and continue to stick with the story! Your feedback really helps me to continue writing.**

**ENJOY**

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><p>I'd known about the rebellion since a year after my games. My girl tribute was slaughtered in the initial bloodbath, and the boy, who wasn't mine, lasted two days longer before being decapitated by a career in his sleep. There were two male victors who'd mentored him, Blight and Dellard; both were beyond caring that our duties were finished within three days. I asked them what we did next; I didn't want to go home where there was nothing left to return to save for the memories of a family that no longer existed. It was my father who tore us apart; my brother died in a true accident, my father drowning his sorrow with a bottle. After I'd been crowned a victor, I found him dead in our home, alcohol poisoning his system. How my mother, the only person I could turn to, ended up dead during my tour I will never figure out.<p>

Despite it all, the Capitol was almost more welcoming to me than Seven, at least people treated me like I mattered, not like I was some useless feral girl who needed a sympathetic frown every other minute. Dellard persuaded Blight to let me come with them that night. I can't even remember where it was, but we wound up in some underground room. Finnick was there; along with at least twenty others including Haymitch who'd lost both his tributes in the bloodbath. He was drunk, but he was there, and that's what mattered.

It wasn't just victors though. There were important Capitol figures that I didn't trust for years to come. All were rich; all were incredibly influential and willing to die for the cause. There was one person from Thirteen, a solider, who was only new to the group as of the year before. He had scattered scars marring his face from the disease that had nearly wiped their population out on many occasions. How we weren't discovered those nights, I don't understand. How we weren't found out at the group grew leading up to the Quell I've never figured out. Plutarch joined up during the 73nd Games, two years after I'd won. He had the most important information, tips about how the Games were rigged so that people close to the Victors were chosen; that why Annie got picked the year before me.

Being completely and utterly alone had it advantages; I couldn't lose anyone. Plutarch knew the instant that Katniss and Peeta won that he was the next Head Gamemaker. He knew the arena; but he hadn't anticipated some of us would have to go in again. When the names were drawn, he fixed it himself so that he could get as many rebels as possible in. It was liberating being part of such an important group of people; knowing the secrets that Snow himself was oblivious to. At the same time, it was exhausting, wondering when it would finally happen, or how. Plans came together leading up to the Quell, but I only knew a bit of what was supposed to happen in the Games. I knew that I had to keep Katniss alive, and I despised her for that; despised that I had to give up my own potential freedom for some seventeen-year-old girl. All I had wanted was to watch the Capitol burn, to see everyone responsible for all the shit in my life to die in the most painful ways possible. And there I was, about to throw away everything I sought for her.

I hadn't thought about life afterwards. I had hardly toyed with the idea of being completely free because that's not what I wanted; if I was free, it meant I had to try to find a level of normalcy in my life. I didn't necessarily want life; I just desired other's deaths.

Lost is an understatement of how I felt once we'd won. What was I supposed to do? The last time I had any sort of ordinary goings on in my life was when I was eleven, and I hadn't exactly embraced that. How could have I anticipated what was to come? I tried to kill myself. It wasn't the first time; I'd tried right after my mother had died. But I tried, and I tried, and I wasn't strong enough to do it. One day I realized that the world was supposed to be better now, that things were supposed to feel right, but they were feeling so wrong… _so wrong_… I can't even begin to explain the confusion. Why wasn't I feeling right? Why did I want to die when I was finally being allowed to live?

Alone. I was so alone, and I realized that was what it was. Finnick was dead. So many people were dead and the only person that cared if I was alive was Annie. Peeta maybe, but I didn't know if he was even functioning properly, if he remembered what we were to each other when we were imprisoned. And then Annie told me I should stop being so selfish, that I should be grateful to be alive when so many had died. She told me to try to find someone, something that could come to mean enough to me to keep me alive.

Clearly, I did. And as I found Gale, as I figured out just what was underneath his smoldering, surly exterior, I _was_ grateful to be alive. If I'd died, I would have missed so much. Even though my reasoning behind rebelling was solely for revenge, I was thankful I didn't have to go through the pain of fighting for someone other than myself, wondering if what I was doing was enough to save them. I didn't have to suffer in that way…

Here I am now, going through what I hadn't experienced before. I couldn't have dealt with this so quickly after my Games, I would've gone completely off the edge, further off the deep end than Annie ever did.

Everything was supposed to be okay. Life was supposed to be peaceful, normal almost.

It was. We have Keidan. He's perfection. Our family… our family should be perfect, our lives should be perfect. I thought it was… I really thought that this Lennox problem could be dealt with by someone else… not Gale. Really, I've expected as much since I fell in love with Gale; suspected that something like this would happen. But I don't want to believe it.

He's going on this job…

Every time I think about it I want to cry. My heart aches, it literally seems to contract and I want to sob until it loosens. He didn't have to say anything for me to know. It's so apparent in how he looks. He was lean before, muscular, but thin at the same time. Now his shirts fit his body snugly; when he holds me, I can feel the muscles rippling in every curvature of his body, the rigidity of them, the security. And his stamina. Not that he was ever unfit, but he can go so much longer than I can…

I just knew. It was so blatantly obvious. And I called him on it; half of me wanted him to deny it. But he didn't and that made it worse. He's accepting that he might die, that he might leave us.

All of the lights are off, it's probably two in the morning, and I can't see anything. The storm clouds outside cover the full moon, but a small amount of pink winter light peeks from behind the curtains. Winters chilled winds howl against the windows, but the house is warm.

Something else is illuminating the front room; orange light flickers along the floor.

"Couldn't sleep?"

No fuck I couldn't sleep. Gale never came home. Well, he's here now I guess, but I never heard him come in.

He's sitting on the rug in front of the fireplace, leaning against the low table for support. The warmth radiating from the fire reaches me as I take a step close.

"Why didn't you come up?" I ask quietly rather than answering. There's fresh snow that's been track in the house; he just got here. His silence never fails to amaze me.

The silhouette that is Gale's head shakes briefly in reply. It's better that he's facing the fire and not me. Sometimes, I can't even bear to look at him… it reminds me of how far I've come, and how I might just be losing everything all over again.

Proceeding to get a glass of water as I had originally planned, I watch Gale's body as his shoulders hunch and he rubs his face. I can't bring myself to move from the kitchen; this is all so wrong, but I don't know what to do because I've caused most of the problems we've been through in the past week. Sure he's betraying his promise to me, but I've shut him out, ignoring most things he says except for when it has to do with Keidan.

"Are you going to come up?" I ask, though I'm afraid for the answer. The fight we'd had this morning was dreadful; he didn't feed Keidan before he left though it was his turn. Every second day I breastfeed him, then on the other days Gale's supposed to get his formula when he starts bawling in the morning.

"I don't really think you want that," he replies in monotone.

My feet take me back to the stairs though I want to say something, to make it better, to get rid of whatever has come between us so suddenly. But there's nothing to say to make it right; at least not now.

"What the hell is wrong with you?"

It's my voice, and the words have escaped me before I realized I had been thinking them. The noise is somewhere between a cry of anger, and a plea of… I don't know. It barely sounds like me.

Gale is rising slowly, turning at an equally sluggish pace. "Me?"

I decide to go with it because the words are out now, and there's no taking them back. My mind can't decide who they were truly meant for. "Yes."

"What's wrong with _me_?" Gale says again, his voice bristling with incredulity. Now I can see him fully and my stomach churns. He's so beautiful, so perfect… but the fire beside him flashes menacingly in his silver eyes. My knees are weak, and my heart's racing, but not because of lust.

I'm petrified.

"Johanna," he says firmly, "what the hell is wrong with _you_? This is getting fucking ridiculous."

My body turns back to the stairs again, and I want nothing more than to run up them. Or punch Gale. But that's been a pretty consistent urge this week. Without looking I know the expression he's wearing, the one that floats somewhere between pain and rage.

"What are you trying to achieve with this? You think if you push me away, you'll be less attached if I die?"

I don't know how to respond. Cutting remarks flash through my mind, but he's hit the nail on the head. Gale sighs in disbelief.

"You can't even begin to understand what I've lost," I hiss. Now my blood's boiling, and I spin to face him and begin taking steps forwards. "You have _no idea_."

"So you push people away, so you don't have to lose them?" His eyebrows raise and he's shaking his head, arms crossed defiantly over his chest. "Maybe I'm insane, but I can't see any sense in that."

He _is_ insane… insane for lying to me.

"You've always kept the best people out, that's why everyone assumes you're an asshole. It's selfish, Johanna… Fuck. You're exactly like Archer. You can't bear the idea of someone meaning so much to you that it might hurt when they're gone. You have such a hard exterior to shield anyone from reaching your heart. And if they have you try to flush them out."

Gale's two for two tonight. That's precisely why I'm so unapproachable. It's exactly what I do; I couldn't put it into better words. But to be compared to Archer… The vulnerability I feel with his words is unbearable.

"Before you, I'd lost everything. _Everything._ Anyone that's ever meant something to me has gone, and I'm sick and tired of losing a piece of myself every time it happens!" My voice his risen into hysteria, and it's difficult to tell if my words are intelligible.

Gale doesn't do anything for a moment. Then his foot shifts towards me. "I do understand, Jo." His tone is soft, and I don't like it.

"No! You have no fucking idea! Every boy, every friend, every family member, everyone… they've all died and taken a part of me with them and now –" something catches in my throat and an odd animal sound comes from it. "Now there isn't enough of me left for you to do that too. If you die, all that'll be left is a shell, and what's the good of that if there's nothing left to protect inside?"

"I've lost people too, Johanna," Gale reminds me, his voice drifting between calm and frustrated.

"But you still have people left! You! You and Keidan are the only people I love, and he'll be all that's left of you. And you promised…" I lower my voice, remembering that Keidan is supposed to be sleeping right now. "You _fucking_ promised me you wouldn't leave me. And now you are, with no regard for what you promised." I'm about to bring up the fact that he most likely pledged to do something similar in our wedding vows, but I can't think straight enough to get the idea out. It's silent for a moment except for our breathing; mine heavier than his. And then he's walking closer to me and I want nothing more than to push him away, though I can't bring myself to do so.

"I can't lose you too," I whisper instead. "I'm done losing everyone I love." Gale doesn't say anything; only his hand moves, grabbing my jaw and neck confidently and craning it up to his mouth, which is open, and eager against mine. My lips want his. My tongue wants his. Both are tingling in anticipation.

But my head doesn't. My head is saying no, no, no. My head wants his hand to leave my body, his lips to part from mine and not return for a while. My head understands why I don't want him, but my body hasn't quite gotten the message.

"Kissing isn't going to make anything better." My brain overpowers everything for a glorious moment and even my voice is steady. It's in vain. Prey can't prevent the hunt if they don't expect it. I was screaming at Gale, he shouldn't want to kiss me. I'm completely defenseless as his warm hand remains on my jaw and his eyes lock onto mine. Tantalizingly, his free hand finds my neck tilting it back ever so slightly so that he can push harder against my lips from his full height. Even if my motor skills were at their prime, I don't believe I'd be able to fight against his hold; any struggle would be futile. Suddenly, Gale's entire body is pressing purposefully against me, his hips sure, stomach tensing and rippling along mine. The urgency is apparent; it's impossible to ignore the sureness of his movements. My lips begin welcoming his, but I know I can't go on. I won't be able to control my body, to stop it from doing what it wants most.

Gale pulls back and I'm almost upset when the warmth of his mouth leaves a chill where it had been. Hands slide up to my cheeks and I'm more confused than I was when he moved in on me.

My body's reacting much, much differently than the thinking part of me had anticipated. I'm crying. My face is soaking wet and Gale traces his thumb gently over my cheeks as my eyes fall shut. My forehead falls on his chest; I feel the assuring thud of his heart. Am I crying because I don't want him to kiss me? Why am I crying? Because he won't stop?

Because he's betraying me. He's breaking the most important promise he's ever made me.

I muster the strength to do it. My hand pushes on his chest and in the same moment I've slapped him before I can realize that I've moved. Colliding with the line of stubble along his strong jaw, my hand begins tingling furiously. I breathe unevenly, nostrils flaring. Steadily, I hold Gale's eyes, which are void of any sort of emotion. He hasn't reacted. He just watches me calmly. No. He was supposed to react. That was the point.

"Fuck you!" I scream finally. Now I shove him away, harder this time and he stumbles slightly. My voice warbles between a cry and a shriek as I push again. And again. Silently, I thank my brain for trumping whatever game my heart had been playing at. He needs to react. He needs to stop. He needs to do something other than just stand there. Does he not realize what he's done to me? "Fuck you, Gale!"

Gale catches one of my fists, his hand moving so swiftly I hadn't seen it coming. He jerks it slightly as I try to wrench myself back, holding it securely against his body. I can't move. "Stop Jo."

"Don't you realize how much I love you?" I shriek wildly, attempting once more to break free. "Don't you see what you're doing?"

"I do," he replies evenly. Then he snares my other wrist, holding it in the same fashion. I'm trapped, glaring up at him, pinned against him by the arms. The hunter's captured his prey. He opens his mouth to say something, but again his lips part slowly, pressuring mine tenderly, begging them to part. Automatically, they give in. I have to fight it, fight him... But he's so strong, and his jaw is so persuasive as it moves against me. Then his teeth are doing the ancient dance along my lower lip, biting, softly then harder and harder until they're forced fully open. Teeth are on my upper lip, nipping every possible area so that they'll be delightfully swollen by the end of this. Just as my entire being begins to push back, his teeth leave my lips, and graze coolly upwards. A soft trail of kisses cover the path of the tears that have thankfully stopped, and then back down. His tongue flicks my jaw for the shortest second; I could have imagined it. Then at least my hands are released, but his teeth are biting my neck slowly, tantalizingly and I'm curving into him, grabbing fistfuls of his shirt as I moan quietly, informing his body of house much I lust for it in this moment. My neck cranes to one side as his wet warm lips trail downward and push against the curve strategically placed between my neck and shoulders.

Gale's hands are playing along the same shoulder, fire igniting in the wake of his touch. I might drown in his desire, my breath is hitching and I might choke and never breathe normally again. Suddenly, he's at my collarbone, nose running just above it as his lips and teeth work voraciously along the skin. Hands rest above my hips, holding me still so that his mouth trails along the center of my chest and plunge between my breasts. I'm not aware of how, but my bra ends up sliding eagerly down my shoulders and arms. Gale manages to pull it off in one swift motion though his mouth continues on its warpath, between my breasts, touching lightly just below each.

No. Stop. I have to stop this. This is insanity, I can't stop just drop what I've been mad at because _everything_ he does turns me on. My hands mean to push me away, but he stumbles backwards and we crash into the opposite wall. That fact that he's jammed between the wall and me only seems to excite him further. Since I can't decide what I want to do (his body is pressed so tightly to mine and when have I _ever_ said no to that?) I bite his neck, gently, almost timidly at first. His fingers are tracing intricate patterns in the lace of my underwear, and they pinch it slightly. My own hands have already travelled up his shirt and as I reach his shoulders I hear a faint ripping.

My fingers squeeze as tightly and painfully as possible on the rippling muscles between his neck and shoulders, pinching in order to inflict as much pain as possible. It hasn't caused any sort of discomfort though.

It's oddly cool where it shouldn't be and I realize in awestruck horror that there is no longer an undergarment remaining on my body. Gale _literally_ tore my underwear off. Time for a new tactic, this one clearly isn't working, I've only managed to turn him on even more.

"You little fucker," I pant. It's meant to come out lowly, and angrily but I only sound confused. Step it up, Johanna, two can play at this game. This has and always will be _my game_.

A tease. I pull my body back, and instinctively Gale tries to follow me. I allow his lips to graze mine before I lurch back even more. Now his hands reach assuredly to me and I let him only get within a hairsbreadth of my skin. The staircase the next to us, my hand sneaks back from under his shirt and finds the bannister. Wordlessly, I place my foot on the first step; Gale attempts to pull me back but misses my hand in the dark.

Maybe it's not a tease. Maybe I really want to go to bed. And not have sex. There's probably something wrong with me, but now that we're not touching, I see sense.

Gale's being an asshole. He vowed he wouldn't do this, and maybe he thinks promises don't mean anything to me because I've been broken so much, but they do. I know that it's impossible for a person not to go back on their word; I know it better than most people probably do. But _his_ promises mean so much more to me than anything else ever spoken by any pair of lips in the history of the world. And the fact that he could be dead…

Just like anyone else, he could be dead. It could be his grey eyes peering up at me, but not really peering because they can't see. Because they'll never see because he's going to put his life on the line, and he's just going to kill more people…

I have to remind myself to breathe; I've worked myself up over this too many times to count and I have to stop before it eats me up entirely. Gale's staring at me; clearly noticing that I'm devoid of any passion. I'm about to ascend the stairs when he catches me once more.

"So what? What do you suggest? That I don't touch you anymore? Is that going to solve anything?" He pants, the words more in the rhythm of his breath than the sound of his raspy ragged voice. "You have to stop this. I love you. That's all that will fix this."

Somehow we tumble, and my back is against the stairs and Gale's overtop of me. It should be uncomfortable; it could be potentially for his based on where my foot is in relationship to manly hood. But I can't bring myself to fight anymore; it's what I've always been doing. I'm too spent. He pins my hands above my head, not irritably, but forcefully. He can't help himself; either he's seeing red and is have some sick episode, or he really just thinks that he can sex me up and make everything better.

As he presses closer to me, a moan breaks from my mouth and there's scuffling upstairs. Immediately, Gale pulls away, gazing breathlessly towards the dark of the room above.

"The dog," I say weakly. It's a game almost, betting on what's going to require our attention when things heat up. Not that they're heating up in my opinion, if this sex carries through, I'm only participating grudgingly.

The whimpering begins and Gale chuckles lowly. "Not it."

I narrow my eyes menacingly at him. "Get the fuck off of me then." My foot finds his thigh and inches towards his groin.

Gale jumps back with a chuckle and I scramble up the stairs before he can change his stupid psychotic mind.

Keidan's whimpers rise into the casual cry as I call it, the kind of cry that when you pick him up ceases immediately. It's solely for attention, and currently I prefer to give all of mine to him.

Each time I lift him up; it seems as though Keidan's gained ten pounds. The hunter green sleeper he's in is so adorable I –

Who the hell am I kidding? Gale's revved me up and I'll die if I'm not satisfied. I plant a kiss on Keidan's head, bobbing him up and down gently. "Be quiet now, okay?" As though understanding me, Keidan gives an endearing giggle and I place his gently back in his crib.

"I think you've forgotten."

Gale's voice startles me in the motionless room, again moving with complete silence. I swallow, my heart racing because this sex is inevitable no matter what has just happened between us. My mouth opens to reply, but bold hands are snaking along my waist and naked hips and the words catch in my throat.

"I'm a hunter." His voice is husky, and ragged with desire in my ear. Involuntarily, my body shudders as he presses against me once more. Then I'm being turned, and pushed firmly backwards until my legs hit the bed and I collapse onto it, giddy with anticipation. "Forget about everything else."

As he descends upon me, I allow myself to do just that.

* * *

><p>A trail of warmth. My shoulders are bare, but heat radiates across one and down the same arm. There's a thumping in my ear, a sure steady thump that could not be anything, but the beat of a heart.<p>

Last night...

The arm that's been slung with his is splayed across his abdomen and the other one is curled up to my bare chest. His free fingers are grasping the ones hanging over his body. I wiggle them slightly pondering how I feel.

Bliss. This right here, with his steady heartbeat drumming my ear, his warm soothing skin pressed against my whole body. I realize that our legs are intertwined. I can't bear to move. I can't bear to move especially with how little he sleeps and how deeply asleep he is right now.

The slow rhythm of his breath tells me he's deeply asleep. Let my eyes flutter shut and snuggle tighter into his arm and chest. I don't know what time it is, what day it is but I could care less. Eventually I feel myself drifting back into unconsciousness but Gale jumps. His entire body shifts so quickly I wonder briefly if I'd dreamed it. But his chest rises and falls slowly as his arm around me tightens. He pulls me even closer and sighs sliding his fingers between mine near his stomach. His heart is besting considerably faster, I've never listened to someone's heart when they're startled. How rapidly it increases and decreases interests me. Then his warm lips are on my forehead and he whispers something inaudible against it. I'm so in love. How can I ever stay mad at him? Why didn't we have hot angst sex sooner? It would've released the tension, we've barely touched each other all week but here we are, naked and tangled and completely at ease.

Okay, so I'm not completely done being mad at him.

"You still upset?" Gale mumbles into my hair. His hot breath grazes along my ear and I squirm with a giggle.

"Not so much," I reply quietly.

Gale moans satisfyingly into me, nose nuzzling into my hair. "Good."

Then the phone is going off and Gale pauses in confusion before turning to answer it. My body is chilled without his heated one against it. Groggily, I glance at the clock though its still dark out and I'm struggling to read it. It's quarter to seven in the morning.

"Hello?"

The noise on the other end is so loud that Gale pulls the phone quickly from his ear.

"Slow down. What's happening?"

Before I can process the sound on the other end, Gale's bolted into an upright position, staring at me. My eyebrows furrow in question and he nods to the person on the other end. "I'm coming."

Gale throws his side of the covers off and grabs a shirt that's been crumpled on the floor for a few days.

"What's happening?" I ask, slowly rising into a sitting position. My vision is bleary, and I rub my eyes furiously, willing the cloud to dissipate.

"Stay here, with Keidan," he answers quickly, leaping from the bed and tugging his shirt over his head quickly.

"What's wrong?" I say louder this time.

Now he's found a pair of boxers, which are most likely dirty. "Someone's house is on fire."

Fire? In winter? "Who? Why are you going? Do they expect you to put it out or something?"

He turns to me, flustered when he has to move to the drawers to find clothing rather than picking it from the floor. "Pine's. And no. But they haven't come out yet."

Something flashes in his eyes, fear almost. But no, he's remembering the fires in Twelve all those years ago. The girl and her family… the mayor's daughter…"Just because you couldn't save her –"

"They have three kids, Johanna."

"And you think because you managed to survive fires before you can do it again?" Anger rises in my voice, and I have to tell myself to remain composed. _Three kids._ I know his wife, not well, but I've seen her and the three little girls from time to time.

Gale's at the staircase. "I'll be fine."

_Don't go_, I silently beg him. It's extremely selfish, but I'd rather him stay here than throw himself into such a threatening situation. "Can I do something?" Maybe if I can, he won't have to go in.

His foot falls onto the first step and he pauses. Gale knows that I wouldn't stay here if my life depended on it… "Blankets. Bring Keidan, but don't come to close."

Then he's gone, and much as I fear for him, my heart swells in admiration. I wonder briefly if he's ever given a second thought to risking his life to save someone else's. I certainly have; well, I'd rather let someone else die for me than me waste my life for them.

Keidan's peacefully asleep, and I decide to throw on the warmest clothes I can find. It's a fire yes, but it's winter, and surely it's frozen outside at this time of day. As I scoop up Keidan he begins whimpering.

"No," I say more to myself than him. But it's too late, he's sobbing and pulling away from me, but I hug him closer, attempting to quiet his sobs. I don't have time for this. Then I bounce him like Gale does, but it never works as well when I do it. He won't stop. There's no hope. Somehow I dress him and gather the few blankets I can find.

Kuma is at the door already, watching me with interest, clearly concerned at Gale's sudden departure. I reach for the doorknob and he's barking madly, jumping at the door, attempting to prevent me from going.

"Shut up, you stupid dog!" I screech, managing to wriggle out, howls echoing from inside of the house.

My heart's hammering… what if Gale dies? What if he goes into the house to get them out and he dies?

I can't bear the thought and place a hand securely on Keidan's hooded head as I begin running. The snow is falling gently now, but it's incredibly dark. How am I supposed to know where to go?

But it's simple enough as I look up, running to the end of the street. The main square lies just ahead, and beyond that a massive plume of black smoke rises menacingly into the winter sky. Keidan's crying has calmed to a loud whimper. I can't remember the last time I ran, but my feet are flying under me though I'm not consciously thinking about doing so.

How does a fire start? My first thoughts are the Keep. They've come to get the ISA before they're destroyed themselves. But no… they'd want to finish off Gale; Lennox's letters have revealed his passionate hatred for Gale.

Merchants in the square stare as I run by, clearly not having noticed the massive fire raging just streets away. I'm there within two minutes, the number of people increasing considerably as I grow nearer. The street is nearly exactly like ours, the houses slightly bigger. There has to be fifty people standing between me and the massive flaming house. The smoke reaches me before the heat of the flames do, and I smother Keidan closer into my shoulder.

My first thoughts are that I can't believe Gale told me to bring blankets. What am I supposed to do with them? The smoke thickens, but everyone remains where they are, watching in terror. Suddenly, I'm wrapping a blanket clumsily around Keidan and kiss his forehead. There has to be someone here I know…

"Johanna!"

The mass of bodies parts and Melaina's pushing out of it, wrapped in a blanket herself. Her blue eyes are red and puffy, either from smoke or tears. At least three inches taller than me, I find myself looking up slightly as a wind catches the smoke and blows into my eyes. Wet flecks of snow help to alleviate the irritation, but soon I'm blinking away tears. Someone's screaming from the house…

"Take Keidan," I sputter, forcing him into Melaina's arms. She's not startled by my demand, and hugs Keidan close. My eyes flash to her belly; she's nearly six months along. "You shouldn't be here, it's bad for the baby." Red fills my vision for a split second. I can't bear the idea of anyone else losing their baby…

"Leos is with Opal, I came because Archer –"

She's too young to understand what you do in these situations. I know she's had a child, and she's married, but she's twenty-two. I'm not one to speak, but she needs to know when to walk away…

"Melaina, I don't care what Archer's doing, you have to leave." Keidan fights in her arms, trying to understand what's happening, but Melaina doesn't flinch. Rather than waiting for her to argue, I step into the crowd, pushing my way towards the shriek that intensifies as I move.

In Seven we had a system that would go off if there were a fire. Sprinklers built into everything, even the forests. They were common enough, broke out naturally in the summer, happened by accident in mills at least once a week. But here, nobody's anticipated such a thing, and nobody knows what to do.

The screams belong to a woman. Somehow they're audible over the roaring of the fire… Someone holds her as she rocks in grief, streaked with soot, hair freshly singed. I can't look at the house directly, I'm about thirty yards away but the searing light radiating from it is blinding.

A resounding crack emits from within the house and the woman stops, and stares fully into the flames. The person holding her tightens her grip as she attempts to stand.

Gale can't be in there… he can't.

I spin and search the crowd for him, seeing only vaguely familiar faces instead. It dawns on me how strange it is that no one's helping, no ones trying to douse the flames.

"Gale?" My voice barely cuts over the chaos around me. "Gale?"

Some eyes catch mine and then flit away. I must look crazy, I feel crazy… the panic I haven't felt in so long is ready to consume me. "Have you seen Gale Hawthorne?" I resort to asking anyone that dares to hold my gaze. Most of them ignore me, or shake their heads. Finally someone tells me that they'd seen him and Archer and someone else run in before the entire place was alight. No one's come out, only Marika, the woman sobbing on the ground.

Despite the intensity of the heat, a chill runs through my body. All I can see for a moment is the swirling mass of orange and red. Gale's in there.

Before I can comprehend what's happened, my jacket is on the ground and I'm taking determined steps closer… and closer…

Someone wrenches me backwards by my hand.

"_Are you insane?_"

It's Paxton, and he's not about to loosen his grip. He must've been hidden deeper than I was looking.

I attempt to rip my hand free, but his grip is iron like and his expression is so different from his usual lighthearted one that I stop. "You can't do anything for him," he says, voice wavering. "We have to wait."

_Wait?_ "Wait for what?" I shriek, the idea of Gale never coming out weakening my knees.

"It's too massive for us to put out, especially when they're in there. It has to burn itself out."

The words are no sooner out of his mouth when a figure emerges, shrouded in a blanket that must be fire proof because they seem completely unscathed. Paxton's hold on me loosens slightly, but he still doesn't allow me to step any closer. The figure shrugs the blanket off, and two children are revealed, held tightly in his arms.

"Archer," Paxton breathes.

He places one girl carefully on the ground, and points to where her mother is now watching her in disbelief. Marika's arms open and the little girl falls into them, both weeping uncontrollably.

"That's Tatum," Paxton says quickly. "She's the oldest one."

An image of all three girls and their mother in the bakery from one day in the summer dances through my mind. From where I stand, it's apparent that Archer's been scorched along his shoulders and neck, but he holds the baby easily as he makes his way to Marika. Leaning over, he lowers the baby into Marika's arms, biting his lip.

"Where's Dessa?" Her voice warbles. "Where's Harver?"

Any hatred or dislike I've ever felt towards Archer fades in this moment. He saved the little girls, two of them. I never would've expected such a thing from him. I can't hear his response, but Paxton has let me go, and walks to Archer as he heads to us.

Black smears of ash streak his face, sandy blonde hair flecked with what could be snow. He's completely exhausted, and hacking so violently for a moment he nearly vomits. Paxton persuades him to sit on the wet street, all the snow having melted with the heat.

"Gale's still in there," Archer pants hanging his head, arms on his knees. "And Pine, and the other girl."

"You did what you could," Paxton assures him, but Archer bats his reassuring hand away. Archer doesn't look like himself, I've never seen him so shaken in my life. The only thing that confirms that it really in Archer are his deep green eyes that shine beneath the grime of his face. A lump forms in my throat… he really is handsome. He's like a younger Gale. Only a year younger, but I finally understand that he's got the drive in him that attracted me to Gale, I understand why Melaina is so drawn to him.

"Where's Mel?" The wild terror in his eyes catches me off guard.

"She's – I told her to leave. Because of the baby." I splutter. "She has Keidan too."

Archer looks relived for a fleeting moment. "Gale just ran in there without thinking. I went after him, but I found the girls. I don't know where he went. Marika was out when I got here, said Harver forced her out then went back in for the girls."

It's quiet among us for a moment, the heat growing more and more intense by the moment. I'm sweating, but I need to see Gale come out alive. I _need _to. The flames only crackle more furiously, responding to my thoughts.

"Is there a medical team?" Archer asks above the roar. He hacks again, lungs rattling in his chest. "Lara, the baby, she's pretty young."

By the size she can't be more than five months old. Paxton tells him that one on it's way and Archer allows himself to calm a bit. This fires been raging for so long, I don't know how anyone else will come out.

The medical team arrives within a minute and reaches Marika who is unwilling to let her children leave her arms. The dark woman beside her convinces her finally that the doctors want to help them. Marika finally released her girls into the medic's care, but yelps loudly as a monstrous snap emits from the house.

One massive section of roofing falls into the house, rousing the snow and ash into the air. Sparks jump and dance in every direction. Someone screams. It might even be me.

A man stumbles from the flames suddenly, but from his massive stature I know it's not Gale. Archer's green eyes grow wide in shock.

"Weston was in there?" he asks, voice cracking.

The man, Weston looks over his shoulder in hope as another section collapses in an explosive crash. The splitting of the wood cracks through the night, slicing painfully through the dampened noise the snow layer has provided until now. Suddenly, the right corner of the house gives out too, smoke and charred material tumbling to the ground in a horrific mess. Marika wails in devastation, scrambling from the doctors.

The rubble begins moving as everyone watches, breathing hitched in wonder, wondering what will give in next. The movement is slow, and tense but it's two more men. The first rolls slowly to their knees trying to make sense of everything, stumbling as he attempts to rise.

"Harver!"

"Daddy! Daddy!" It's the unmistakable plea from the little girl still caged in by the flames. Her voice cracks with smoke and desperation.

Pine's focus, which had been on Marika, shifts to his little girl's voice. In that same horrific moment, the most deafening, resounding clap of hundreds of pieces of wood splintering violently drowns out any voice, any sound, any thought of anything around us.

"Dessa!" Pine's hand is reaching out as the house roars in fury at it's own destruction. "Dessa!"

His cries make my entire body clench in pain. The little girl, their other girl is nowhere to be seen, but is somewhere in the rubble that's still consumed by flames. There's no voice calling back to him.

Marika's struggling ceases, any fight drained from her body. Her eyes are unblinking. Her head is shaking. "No. No. No."

Then she's shot from the medic's stunned hands and stumbles closer to the fire. Pine's gathered the strength to stand too, and catches his wife just before she falls onto what used to be their home.

"My baby!" she's shrieking, voice rising into a level of tormenting hysteria I didn't know existed. Somehow her screams don't break, they just go over and over and all anyone can do is watch.

Both their knees give out simultaneously and Marika drops into a weeping heap, Harver having wrapped his body around hers as to not allow her to see the fire.

Everyone is in disbelief. Even the medics have stopped tending to the children. The flames shrink considerably, but still spit loudly, licking along the wood.

"Put it out," Archer orders loudly. A few people glance at him oddly. "Paxton get them to drop a damned water bomb now so they can see their little girl before there's nothing left of her." That's why they couldn't put it out before. There's only water bombs to douse a fire this size, but that'd mean the entire house being destroyed even before the flames had done that job.

Gale. The rubble where Harver came from shifts slightly again. It could have been this whole time, but no one's paid any attention. A medic rushes over since only small embers glow around the black heap. I try moving too, but instead I'm falling and my vision blurs. As I hit the ground everything clears, Archer leaning over to sit me upright. His hands are sure, but too hard against me. I can't bring myself to cry for joy because he's alive or to cry in sadness for the Pine's.

Fists clench at the charred material beneath the body as Gale shakily rolls onto his back, revealing his filthy face, wheezing violently. A medic orders him not to move, but Gale either ignores him or can't hear, manages into a half kneeling position. There's not one patch of clothing not black with soot, though some bits are scorched away entirely. He wretches, coughs seizing his entire body. Vomit pours from his mouth and he hacks again before the rest follows before crumpling breathlessly onto his back.

A moment later the unmistakable roar of a hovercraft fills the air and a massive ball of water descends on the remains of the house. This could be the loudest thunder of the morning. I've never seen water crush anything quite like this. My brain can't even process what it sounds like…

My own face is wet, Gale and the medic are drenched, water pouring from even Gale's tattered clothing like waterfalls. A sudden burst of energy fills me, my legs working and I clamor over the ruins to where he lays, panting, grimy and seared.

"Gale!" I'm on my knees beside him. I can't believe I'd ever want to push him away. What was I thinking? Gale blinks ash from his lashes, and grey is suddenly the most beautiful color I've seen. My hands locate his face and I'm kissing every inch of it I can manage. He's alive. He's alive, he's alive, he's alive.

_He's alive!_

"He had her Jo," Gale wheezes, eyes glistening in remorse. "He had her, but the whole placed caved and she slipped out of his arms."

He sits up again and watches the ashes rising from the rubble like snow. I throw my arms around him to bring his attention from it. "Gale." At last his arms wind assuredly around me, as though somehow he's sensed that the shock that is about to hit.

* * *

><p><strong>Was it worth the wait? I sincerely hope so. Please, let me know what you think! Any and all feedback is welcome! Thanks for making it all the way down here (:<strong>


	14. Winter Four: Part Two

**I dropped off the edge of the world two years ago, and now I'm back! I'm sincerely sorry to anyone I disappointed with not updating this story, for any comments I never replied to who urged me to continue. I've had this entire story planned for two years, but I didn't know if I wanted to continue it, and suddenly a bolt of inspiration hit me, and I started writing again. I never wanted to leave this story without an ending, without what we had all been waiting for. I'm sorry I left no indication of if I would finish, of what was to become of the story, but to be honest I had no idea what my intentions with it were. I came back and read all the comments, all the people who wanted me to continue, and I knew I had to.  
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**Thank you to anyone who has waited those two years, who still believes in this story and who reads it! I'm thankful for all of your responses, and your love for the story, I only hope I can make up to you by continuing once more. You are all the best for journeying this far, I hope I do not disappoint again.**

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><p>Archer's lips are moving, but the impact of bullet after bullet against the target, paired with the ricochet and smattering of shell casings hitting the concrete floors makes it impossible to hear. I shake my head and he gives a silent laugh.<p>

It's Paxton who takes initiative and raps on the window where Pine reloads the pistol. He pauses, and then slides off his earmuffs with a questioning expression.

"One!" Paxton yells through the window, and Pine nods, exiting the pod.

"I think it needs a silencer," he comments with a weary laugh as he hands the new prototype to Archer. "A bit loud."

We all shrug, ringing still reverberating through our ears.

It's been a month since the fire. Pine's face is thinner than ever before, a beard growing along his jaw, brown eyes fatigued and without their usual genuine sparkle. But somehow he's looking considerably better than the week that followed. He never talks about it, and none of us try to bring it up. Paxton has helped him through it the most; somehow I feel as though I'm not allowed to.

I was there when all hope of saving his little girl was lost. We were corned by near the front of the burning house on the second story and Dessa was inches from his arms. Her blond hair was black from ash, and she was sobbing uncontrollably, crying for her him. It haunts me still; always will. Another hellish blazing nightmare added to the mix.

A beam fell. Of course a beam fell. What else would have happened? It blocked Dessa from her father, a wave of heat crashing against us. I couldn't see anything through the plumes of smokes. That extra load was what did it. Our section collapsed and that's where my recollection ends. When I was aware of what was happening, what was left of my clothing was drenched and Johanna was clinging to me while my lungs burned as though a spark had found its way inside and ignited a new blaze.

I can't change it. There's nothing anyone can do though each of us wonders what if… what if we had gotten there earlier? What if we had reached her a moment sooner? I know first hand it's not healthy to consider 'what ifs', but it's something I find myself doing for too many things that have transpired.

"Right," Pine nods to something Archer's been explaining. We're on the elevator I realize suddenly, and moving towards the ground floor where we carry out simulations. Each team has specific tasks for the upcoming mission, and we train and do simulations for any unforeseen circumstances that may occur. Normally we do them separately, but today we've decided to watch each other's to gather a full understanding of how each person is contributing.

Fifteen minutes later , when everyone has suited up, we've trudged through a blizzard across a field behind the building, leading to the outdoor simulation arena and bundled up in the control center. Sim and Pine sit at the computers, flicking switches – including the heat- as the rest of us attempt to regain feeling in our faces. Pine's been taken off of the mission, which is better I suppose for us, so that we don't have just one set of eyes monitoring the whole thing.

I don't know how they set up these things, I really don't people have tried to explain it, with Archer insisting that it's simple, but as long as it works, I'm not too concerned. Today Archer's crew is about to take the butcher's shop, which hides the central entrance into the underground system so cleverly constructed by the Keep. My entire team is in the viewing room, along with Paxton's team aside from our second in commands. Only five of Archer's team is to raid the house, and the remainders are also in the room with us. The six of us are here, standing, leaning, anticipating what's about to happen.

"Check," Archer's voice comes on, screens flashing to life. There are a multitude of screens, one showing the shop, real snow dancing across the camera. Others show the interior of the building, from every angle so that not one speck of dust is overlooked.

"You're good," Sim confirms.

The peacekeepers we use for these things are trained agents, who wear the most protective gear so that any synthetic bullets they are struck with will do minimal damage.

"Go for it guys," Archer instructs his five crewmates. They swiftly and silently surround the house, gun barrels extending to gently touch the windows and doors they are about to destroy. Here's where it'll get interesting. In each mockup Sim and Pine throw us curveballs. Many aspects can be similar, but no two situations will be identical.

"Shit," Archer whispers to himself, about to attack the front door. He's place an ear gently against it, and apparently hears something. "I've got movement." He fishes around in one of his pockets, his real hand pink in the cold. Then he's extracted a tiny silver pellet, and rolls it towards the door. Rather than flattening and sneaking under, the snow slows its progress and it stops, growing red as it prepares to detonate. Archer smirks in the way that only he can when something is going wrong. It's near a burning scarlet shade as he nudges it casually with the nose of his gun, but does as it's programmed to do at the very last second, slipping beneath the door, a subtle explosion clouding the screens of the other cameras. "Go."

All at once, there is a chorus of shattering glass and splintering wood as the team enters the house, each allowing themselves one shot to take out the Keep members who have emerged from the smoke, ready to contest them. Red lights flash around the shop, indicating that the agent's bullets have homed in on fatal points.

Archer hasn't moved from outside the door, but rather pulls out a handgun with his left hand, blindly aiming around the door that has swung open with the explosion. The butcher standing at the top of the stairs flashes green beyond the smoke. Archer's shot has hit him, but not in a place as to end his night/life. Then the butcher is firing shot after shot; all of which will leave Archer with massive welts if they find their target. He manages to dodge them with a somersault into the threshold of the shop, firing once more.

"Entrance is blocked!" Someone yells through the smoke.

"Blow it!" Archer commands, his bullet hitting the butcher in the shoulder. "You're kidding me."

A false explosion rumbles the structure as Sim triggers the trap door into the cellar of the house to open, a massive wooden chest shattering into a billion pieces as our men stand back, and then descend into the darkness.

Archer still has to handle the butcher, but as he peaks around the counter he hides behind, a shot hits him in his ribs, glowing red. A fatal wound. "I've got two!"

"Coming!"

A Keep member rounds the corner, unloading a round as Archer scrambles, ultimately hitting the man with a carefully placed shot in the chest. As he turns to handle the butcher one last shot rings out, but from an agent, from Destera behind the falling butcher. She smiles weakly at Archer who sighs, disappointed in his blunders, glancing down at his chest. He looks up at one of the cameras, smoke dissipating.

'How many did we lose?"

"Three shot," Sim reads out.

"Any dead?"

"Just you Archer."

Archer shakes his head, swearing loudly with steam billowing out of his mouth in the cold as he calls his men back up the stairs. The fake peacekeepers rise as the simulation ends and the lights turn on. Archer tosses his handgun to the ground, jaw tense. "Fuck me."

* * *

><p>"Hey, guys?"<p>

The elevator doors open, the female voice announcing we're on the fourth floor, and going down. Someone slides on as the doors open, but the voice belongs to someone else. Beyond the man who has just entered is Pine, shifting his glasses slightly, wrinkling his nose. He's stopped in his tracks, apparently having been moving rather swiftly. Lucille, the robotic voice, informs us that the doors are closing but I stick my foot in between them at the last moment.

"Agent 728, please remove your foot."

"Shut up," Archer says loudly, and the unknown agent gives a chuckle.

Pine looks as though he's in pain. "There's something you need to see."

Archer and I look at each other and exit before Lucille can do anything about it.

"What is it?" Archer asks, hurriedly. Pine continues on the path he had been taking and we have no choice but to follow in his wake.

"I've been working on this thing…"

He shoots off on some story about during the rebellion he has this idea about intercepting messages from the Capitol to the Peacekeepers all over the country, but didn't have the means do accomplish it.

"It's great and all that you've figured it out," Archer begins, ruffling his hair impatiently. "But can't we look at it tomorrow?"

Pine shakes his head without looking back. He veers left suddenly and the hallway is suddenly stark and white. It's where most of the fancy computer technology that I'll never understand happens. It's devoid of anyone; it's nearly six and most people have no reason to stay past four. "No, no, it's not the system. It's something I've intercepted."

He places a hand on a silvery pad, which glows purple for a moment, and a door I hadn't noticed concealed in the wall slides open.

"Good? Bad?" Archer asks, suddenly intrigued.

The room that is revealed is pitch black, and my eyes ache as they attempt to adjust to the intense transition. On the far wall a small white square glows on the screen. There's a shifting sound and I stop. But it's only Paxton, leaning against the desk that I now see wraps around the wall, which is really just a massive screen.

"Not exactly promising," Paxton interjects. He leans over and taps the white square, the room springing to life. Colors bloom across the screen, all sorts of numbers and information popping up, scrolling up and down.

"What is all this?" I ask. It's making my head hurt, and I can't even begin to comprehend what any of it means.

Paxton waves a sheet of paper with a laugh. "I hate the screens too. But he insists on it."

Everything is moving so quickly and Archer puts up a hand as though to halt it.

"Can you stop it?" His eyebrows are suddenly knit in concentration, his tone entirely serious. It's beyond rare for Archer to concentrated on anything so hard. Pine does something and it all stops. Combinations of numbers and letters are frozen on the screens around us, blaringly white in the darkness.

"A code," I answer my own questions

"Except whose is it?" Pine asks curiously. I shrug. Paxton looks just as clueless. Archer's lips are shaping silent words.

"Peacekeeper's," he says after a moment of bewildered silence. "Parts are what we used to use."

He doesn't need to say anything else; it clearly belongs to the Keep.

"It has to be them," he says to himself. "Ours are simpler. And we're the biggest secret. We're the only ones who should need to use them."

"They've got more technology than we thought," Pine adds. "But I doubt they can intercept anything of ours."

Archer has suddenly swiped the paper from Paxton who tosses him a pen a moment later. He's scribbling wordlessly, flipping the paper constantly as he scrawls along the back of it. "I can only get bits. But it's to someone named Whelan."

Whelan. The name isn't familiar, and its clear that no one else recognizes it.

"Search missing peacekeepers," I offer to Pine.

Suddenly names and pictures of people are flashing across the screens. All are those whose bodies were never identified after the rebellion, and these are only the reported ones. Then a man with grey hair pops up, forty years old, stern yet wise looking.

"Know him, Archer?"

His blond hair shakes in the light, but his eyes are glued to the screen in wonder. "What the fuck…" He looks back down at the page.

"What is it?" I'm impatient now, though it's evident that he's attempting to piece together information.

"It has a date."

"A date?" Pine and I ask in unison. Paxton moves from his perch against and wall and stands around the blinding white paper with us.

"January tenth."

"What?"

Archer looks at the screen again, green eyes flitting across it wildly, searching for something more.

"I don't know. It says January tenth, addressed to this Whelan guy. Something about explosives…"

"Reporting cargo?" Paxton asks.

Archer shakes his head, turning back to the page. He scribbles more. "I-C-S. That's what these are," he circles a batch of numbers. "It's what was used to refer to the private headquarters where agents like us worked. Internal Capitol Security."

"ISA. It has it next." He circles more numbers and we all tense. "Where is this Whelan guy from?

"Two," Pine reads. His calm demeanor, his ease with the system reminds me suddenly of Beetee during the rebellion. "Southeastern district. He was a commander for ten years. How would you not know him?"

Archer grips the pen tighter, shaking his head in defeat. "I don't know. I've never heard of him. Maybe he changed his name? Fuck. What does this say?" He scribbles down a few more lines, rubbing his temples with his faintly glowing left hand.

"Think they've got explosives here?" I ask, rifling through the words Archer has written.

"Why? Blow us up? This building it made to with stand any sort of blast they could throw at us," Archer rushes.

I shrug.

"There's a shipment of explosives. January tenth. I think whoever this Whelan is has signed off on it. Agents. ISA agents." We pause, Archer meets my eyes slowly, and my heart seems to thud to a halt.

"Are they targeting us?" Paxton says slowly.

"They know. They know what we're doing and when." Archer bites his lips, both hands in fists, one pounds onto the surface of the desk, pen flying onto the floor. "They're targeting us first. They've changed the code a bit, but there says the fifteenth, and this mentions a raid."

I'm frozen for a moment, attempting to comprehend what these words mean. "How? How would they know?"

"Either they've tapped into our security, which I doubt, or there's a mole," Pine beings typing furiously on the screen, names and faces flash by with the numbers, and then red lines pulsing out from the center of some sphere. "All of our systems are fine. There would be green lines for any outside transmission getting in."

"Maybe they bugged it somehow? The shit we've brought back from undercover missions," Paxton venture, rubbing his red beard in thought. He's gone undercover more than anyone, he doesn't have a wife or children, and has historically offered his expertise more often than others.

"Or we've got a mole," Archer repeats Pine's words in a low tone. "Fuck."

Thoughts run rampant through my head, I try to pick out one from the crowd to explain to myself what's happening. Should we shut it down? The first thought opens a hundred other pathways of potential answers and consequences. "Do we tell Paylor?"

Again, we're stumped. Pine checks the screen again, but it only pulses red. "If they've got into the communications somehow, we can't send her anything. If we've got a mole we can't call the operation. If they've bugged the place then surely they know that we know."

"Wait-" Paxton moves to the screen. "What's that?"

There's the smallest green dot at an intersection of the red web. Pine types something and the screen seems to zoom in on it, revealing a hundred more red pathways, a lone green streak down one.

"Those are messages. Personal ones, the ones we send day to day. They haven't breached actual security information or anything else. They've only hacked the only thing that we don't bury in code."

"Personal messages?" I ask. I send very few, preferring to go and find someone I need to speak with than typing up a message on a screen. I've sent them mostly to Archer if he's home, because I know he would check them there. Most have been mundane, but a few would hold pieces of information on the mission. And if all our messages have been infiltrated and they have focused closely enough on certain details, surely they could piece together the larger picture. "I thought those would be the most secure?"

Pine shakes his head "Unfortunately not, though they are not the least secure either. They've targeted them." He leans back suddenly, brows knit in thought. "Because of the explosives! Because they can link each account to a residence every time a message is received there! That's why they've selected this system. To map out where we live."

"And they're going to blow us all up on the tenth?" Paxton confirms.

The date… what day is it?

January sixth.

"We have to push the mission forward," Archer announces resolutely. "No question."

"When?"

Archer and I look to one another, "now."

"Now?" Pine's voice takes on a weary tone.

"We can't waste anytime. We need everyone in here now. Send a coded message, just to the teams. It'll take the Keep hours to figure out, if they're monitoring it. That will be enough time to get everyone ready and on the move," Anders rallies.

"And Paylor?"

"I'll send it." Archer rubs his face, as though he can erase the strain that has suddenly been etched onto it. "Get everyone here by eleven. Paxton, see if Sim is here."

Paxton nods and leaves briskly, straight faced. "Think he's ready?" I ask Archer, watching as the door slides shut behind Paxton's tall figure.

"As ready as we are."

Johanna is sleeping on the couch in front of the fire when I get home, Kuma asleep on the floor at the base of the couch, Keidan likely upstairs.

It's only ten thirty, I have half an hour until I leave, but I was hoping she wouldn't be awake for this. She would never let me go, not in a thousand years. As soon as she wakes up, tonight or tomorrow, she'll lose it, knowing exactly what I've disappeared for.

How am I supposed to say goodbye? Part of me didn't want to come back to do it, but my feet led me here regardless. We should be back in twenty-four hours, if all goes as planned. But I supposed we've deviated from the plan already, none of this is going to happen as it should, but we can't risk leaving it and have our own homes being torn apart.

I decide to say goodbye to my son first, I manage to creep up the stairs without waking Johanna. Keidan's standing in his crib as though awaiting my arrival with his mess of black hair is splayed in every direction, which I can't help but smooth it out as I pick him up.

'Hey, kid," I whisper, "why are you awake?"

He mumbles something in his baby talk, grasping at the collar of my shirt with his tiny chubby fingers. I can't believe how quickly a year has passed, almost a year old and here I am abandoning my child right before his first birthday.

"Pa!" he cries excitedly, releasing my collar from his vice like grip, bouncing up and down in my arms. He's been managing the word 'Pa' for a few weeks now, but so far no progression on any other front, specifically the 'Ma' one. However, he's close to walking, pulling himself up on tables, waving one foot around in front of him, so far not bold enough to take the first fateful step. I better come back, I'm not missing his first steps.

We've spoken about it in training – that is motivation to fight. Mental training, I call it, where you sit with a doctor in a room and they prime your mind for the battlefield once more. For most of us, myself included, I don't think we've every lost the mentality required for this, none of us need to be reminded why we continue to fight, what is at risk.

I place him on the floor for a minute, crouch down and hold his tiny hands as he wobbles in a standing position. He looks down at our hands, and then at me, his grey eyes alight with bewilderment. When he stares back at his feet for a moment I think he might do it, take the step, but instead he topples over, landing on his bottom, unfazed by the tumble.

"We tried kid," I pick him back up, placing a kiss on his cheek, then his forehead. "I have to go, alright? But I love you more than anything. What I'm doing, if anything happens, it's so you and your mother can be safe. I hope you understand that one day."

Johanna's still curled up on the couch when I reach the foot of the staircase. I haven't thought this through, how can I say goodbye without waking her?

"Jo?"

Nothing. I have to wake her up, face whatever it is she throws at me, both figuratively and literally.

"Jo," I crouch down and nudge her shoulder. Groggily, she turns to me, rubbing her dark eyes, pushing her blanket off.

"What?"

"I'm leaving."

She stares at me for a moment coolly, biting her lip. "That's fine."

"I love you."

She merely nod, searching my face as I search hers for something more, a more emotional response. "Love you too," her lips quirk down for moment. Has she accepted this? I don't think so, I think she's trying her hardest not to cause an uproar about it, but she doesn't forgive me for wanting to go, for wanting to risk my life for this. Pulling up the blanket, she curls like a beetle might and faces into the couch, back to me.

It's almost worse than any curses or punches she could have fired my way. This cold recognition that I'm going against my promise, that I wouldn't do anything else is enough to make me question going. But only for a moment – if she could understand why I'm putting my life on the line, to prevent hers from being in the same position mine will be in a few hours – perhaps she'll understand. She's never been one for self sacrifice, I know that much, any time she's risked her life has been for her own benefit in the past, to keep herself alive. Until the Quarter Quell that is, but even in the revolution she was prepared to battle for revenge, not for the safety of everyone else. If she were in my position now, with a family to care for, a child, maybe then she would understand the value of risk beyond the goal of retribution.

When I return to headquarters I find myself vibrating, suddenly my blood shunts through my body with one purpose. The ninety agents we've lined up are milling about, stepping into changing rooms, adjusting vest, entering and leaving the armory. We're all here for the same purpose, to keep our loved ones safe, to preserve or maybe attain peace after all of these years of battling for it. With the bustle of boots on the concrete floor, the clinking of knives and grenade tabs against belts, the clicking of rounds being attached to guns, placed in pockets, the occasional nervous laugh, I realize that I feel more alive than I have in years. This is it, what we plan and fight for and finally, we get to put it in action. All worries of my betrayal to Johanna fade away, my blood beating all qualms away with pulses of adrenaline.

There's a slap on my back, Archer passing by, already suited up in pitch black gear, two guns slung across his shoulder, a knife and a pistol in his belt, an array of grenades pushing against the fabric in his pockets. "It feels right, hey? Better suit up."


	15. Winter Four: Part Three

**The updates continue, thanks to all of the feedback! Here's some action. Enjoy!**

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><p>We're silent as the hovercraft nears the drop zone, but Paylor is speaking into my ear with Paxton and Archer connected on their ends. Shockingly, she was composed upon receiving Archer's correspondence and had accepted that we were already shipping out by the time it reached her. Now she has an entire board monitoring us in the Capitol while Sim, Pine and a collection of others watch us back home. The waves of mutts have been released to handle the Keep's own on the ground; our contacts in the village are prepared to follow through with their tasks. Everything is ready despite the urgent time advancement.<p>

"North drop in thirty seconds," a pilots voice comes through, Paxton's team. The hovercraft my team is in pauses mid air as we line up.

"Begin drop."

I make eye contact with Terek and Weston as I stand up, deciding that some sort of speech should be made. These people have volunteered themselves for this; have left family behind for this. What can I possibly say to make any of this all right? Our goal is to kill or capture an unspecified number of men and women, to blow up half the town. It should bother me more than it does, but I've become so desensitized to death I can't bring any sort of emotion forward despite the hot blood pumping at my temples. My eyes dart around once more, thirty sets looking back at me in expectation.

"We all know what has to be done. Keep your earpieces in, cameras on."

Archer chuckles in my ear, "how moving."

"Shut up."

As second-in-command, Weston descends down the ladder first, twenty-seven others following in silence.

"Good luck down there," our pilot says with a quick nod before Terek and I descend.

It's nearing two in the morning and we are met by pitch black accompanied by the howling of wolves and the roar of cougars. The night vision adjusts in our goggles within seconds, revealing a thin bush of slim towering pines and lower snow covered bushes. It hardly matters that our footprints will be visible as we make our trek, once we pass the security perimeter and the first pods go off they'll know we're inside. All we have to do is be faster than their shots.

"Power down in two minutes," Pine announces through the headset and I signal it to my team to begin moving.

"Good luck, friends," Archer says.

"Friends?" I ask.

"If I die thought you should know you all made it into the famed circle. Especially you, Mrs. President."

"This is a government assignment not a romantic midnight stroll." Paylor comes across.

"My vote is in for a midnight stroll next time," he laughs.

"Preferably without a foot of snow," Paxton adds.

"Hawthorne, get these children back home, alright?"

I can't help it. "Sure thing, mom."

Terek turns to me with an odd expression that holds traces of alarm at our seeming indifference, but she continues forwards without question. We have, well less than three minutes now to pass through the perimeter and get inside. Archer's crew will infiltrate the center, a few taking the butcher's shop, the others holding off others who may appear near it. Paxton and I will take the outer passages into the tunnels, some of which may be guarded. That's when the outposts go up, Pine and Sim have got those, the explosions meant to draw whoever is monitoring these entrances away for a brief enough time for half of us to enter. At the same moment the pods will begin, on the outskirts, most just flares except where we know guards will be posted where things more fatal wait. They'll think we're attacking from all around, triggering the pods from every angle, yet again drawing them to places that we are not. Below ground we will take out their major systems, their hidden barracks and armories, most importantly the central computer which allows them to communicate with their newer station closer to the mountains. There we have our own mutts attacking theirs, far enough out they wont realize anything has happened until the morning, just for the hell of it.

My personal goal is to end whoever this Tobin Lennox is, to see whatever semblance of humanity that flashes in his eyes to burn out. We've been assured he will be below, and if all goes well, Archer's men will have captured him for me.

The outposts rise up before us now; Pine counts down to from thirty seconds when each of our groups cuts power to them. Beyond is the village itself, riddled with small cabins that stretch on for a few miles. There are families here, the Keeps' family, innocent people who are caught between us. The one thing the Keep had managed to do is create a security alert system that informs all residents of any potential attack, and that warns them to hide in their cellars until otherwise informed. Once the outposts go up in the flames the system will be triggered and they, hopefully will remain indoors. We've been given explicit instructions, none of which any of us argued, not to harm the families, only to shoot if shot at. If it is not a member of the Keep, our lenses will identify them swiftly should they ventured from their homes, and we are endangered, we shoot to hinder, not to kill.

"Zero."

The blinding yellow lights that form something of a constellation around the village shut down and we move. There are shouts from within, but as my team slips between three of the towers none of the voices move outside.

"We're through," I breathe.

"Through."

"Three Keep down." It's Paxton. "Three came out of unit eleven, no more movement inside. Proceeding into town."

It's about a hundred yards to the outermost buildings, within thirty seconds the power is restored and signs of concern behind us end. It seems too easy, but what we have ahead is considerably more complicated. We move into alleys between the abandoned shacks, silent despite the snow under our feet, and hide behind those we are to enter.

"Set," I whisper, Paxton calling the same. My back is against the wood of the building, I touch the pistol on my hip, as a reminder should there be a close encounter, and I prepare the rifle in my right hand. I can't help but bounce with the seconds that pass as we wait for Archer's group to sneak into the center of town, blood rushes past my ears, and by the anticipation riddled across everyone's faces around me it is evident that my impatience is shared. It's simpler, kinder on the nerves to pull a trigger the second danger approaches, but waiting for the danger, wondering at what moment the bullet needs to fly is considerably more wearing.

Minutes pass, none of us dare shift a foot until Archer is in my ear and I signal that the posts will be destroyed in twenty seconds.

None of us jump as orange flames lick their way into the night sky, screams erupting as the black smokes billows above. I can't help but think for a moment of the house fire, of every fire- but no. I have to shake it. It's exactly this sort of thing Paylor warned against. Not today. No ghosts today.

My body has reacted though my mind had wandered and as the two Keep from my building rush back towards the flames we move inside.

"They know."

My feet stop, my heart thuds against my ribs, Archer's words press against my eardrums like a foot on thin ice.

"What?" Everyone stops for a moment around me, but I don't know how to react.

"There are twenty or more men inside of this shop."

"The pods should have gone off," Pine says hurriedly.

_They know._

A spattering of gunfire carving through the crisp winter air confirms what has been said, as I look outside of our building to see the Keep who had left returning, shell casings swallowed by the snow around them.

"Out!"

"Karis, don't go inside- "

"Grenades boys! And girls. Boys and girls."

"I'm still clear here," Paxton.

"Karis don't- "

I've flown back into the snow, taken down both of the Keep before me. "Unit thirty-six!" I order. There are at least three others with me, we race to the left of our building to the cabin I've instructed everyone to meet at, and someone behind me fires a shot, though judging from the grunt that follows at a distance it was not meant to harm us. Terek and a few others cross before us, in my earpiece and towards the center of the town there's a harmony of collective explosions.

"What the fuck is going on?" Terek hisses at me as the night falls silent once more, the snow absorbing the ricochets that sing out. "The pods should have gone off."

I nod, swallowing. Our group collects around us, a few with their guns ready at the periphery of the gathering. "Archer's going to get underneath in a moment. We still need to. Less of us go under. We each take a four, that leaves twenty up here to defend whatever else comes."

"They're waiting for us below if they haven't come out yet," she says quickly though short breaths, leaning against yet another abandoned cabin.

"We have to get down regardless, that's what we came for." More of my group gathers, no one seems to have been wounded or killed. "Let's go in closer to the center, they'll be expecting us at the boundaries, not halfway in. We get inside and take them from behind and then move back to the center. You and I take six each, Weston stays up with the rest."

Weston hurries to my side now, nodding his head with my plan, Terek as well. They relay it quickly to everyone as I confirm it with Paylor.

"It's too quiet, Gale." Paxton says.

"We're in!" Archer says. "I think I've got two wounded."

"Paxton, do the same as Gale," Paylor decides quickly. "Karis, keep your numbers the same."

"Watch!"

The call is from my own team, those with their guns out begin firing and I motion for our newest selection to press onwards. We take out four more Keep as we move forwards; those who have kept watch elsewhere and believe us to be in one spot. Legitimate habitation begins soon; the sirens sounding within households reach us from a few blocks away. The trembling of the earth and a writhing ball of flames cut off the shrill warnings, both accompanied by distant shrieks.

"What was that?" Paylor asks.

"They've blown a house." Paxton responds.

"It's not an entrance," Pine confirms with a tight voice. "A house."

"They're blowing up their own people," I tell my team as another monstrous fire takes form to the east. "Move quickly, lets get below."

There's gunfire through the earpiece, but I blocked out whoever's voice follows. We have to find an entrance, we have to get below and stop this all.

"Unit fifty-six," Pine says to me privately. "Entrance there about two thirds in."

"Thanks."

"Move!" I direct the squad to the left.

Another explosion, this time close enough it rattles the snow from the roofs of the last abandoned cabins we pass. A house about six blocks before us is swallowed in flames, the neighboring homes quickly igniting. What are they attempting to accomplish?

A few people begin filling the street ahead, mothers and their children mostly. _What are they doing_?

Before I can comprehend it another, this time a block to our left knocks us off of our feet, my rifle sinks into the snow alongside burning debris that has scattered around us.

"Incoming!"

Never mind the entrance, a legion of Keep dressed in white to match the snow move in our direction with their guns poised towards us. Most of us roll out of the way of their fire, and begin firing back immediately. There is nothing in my head except the bullets escaping the barrel of my gun, the symphony of metal sliding along its destined path, of metal piercing the brittle air, of metal breaking through inevitable barriers of cloth and armour, of metal finding its ultimate home in skin. Thousands of these individual symphonies ring through the night, scattered at moments, and then in unison at others.

The white of their uniforms are sprayed scarlet, the snow, which is quickly tainted with the same stain, catches eight bodies.

"Go."

We move once more but a crowd of citizens has gathered in our path.

"There!" Suddenly they're motioning to us, the intruders in their village, the villains of the night.

"Go back inside!" I order quickly. It's two women with three children, none older than ten. "Get back in!"

All but one of the women begin racing back to their opened door as more residences blow up further away. Who am I to say the house is safer? Beyond them another troop of Keep appear.

"Get back inside!" I roar once more, my voice hoarse from the smoke that I had failed to notice entered my lungs.

"Who are you?" The woman yells.

"Get in your fucking house!" Terek screams beside me, the decibels of her shriek compensating for her lacking stature.

The family scrambles as a shot is fired towards us, hitting a house. The second they've cleared out the Keep open fire, someone behind me is hit and we tumble out of danger. No sooner have we avoided the bullets that the exact home the family has entered erupts.

Everything is black for a moment, my skin sears in strange places, a shrill note reverberating in my ears as my eyes burn and water. It takes a moment to realize I'm no longer on my feet, that my shoulder is aching and my rifle has disappeared all together.

There's a strange sound, almost like the particles in the air have collapse in on themselves like a vacuum and my arm begins bleeding. A slow glance and a shift sideways makes it visible that I've been clipped.

Fire. It reigns supreme where the family did once; I cannot make out any distinct features through the heavy smoke, but they are dead, incinerated likely. It's better that way that their lives evaporate in half a second rather than the drawn out minutes that feel like hours, days.

A hand grasps my right arm, tugs at it as those it's stable as a post dug into the ground.

"Gale!"

It's Terek, with her helmet blown off and her brown hair full of white ash and dirt. I come to my senses then, everything snaps back like a rubber bands and I'm standing, finding my gun beneath a charred log. I'm unsure where the rest of our group has gone, but the area is deserted and quiet as action hails in all other directions. We both breathe for a moment, Terek locates her helmet only to see it's been destroyed, she quickly rifles through the medical bag on her back to ensure nothings been damaged. I tap my ear for the voices that have been filling my head all night, but there is nothing. My eyes wander around the smoking rubble, wondering if it's fallen out, but the plastic is in my ear,

"I don't have contact," my voice is more hoarse than before and I'm compelled to hack for a moment, Terek admits she has lost hers as well.

"Hey!" Terek waves someone over in that moment, a man with dark skin and hair, a sniper named Lawrence who was supposed to stay back with Weston. "Can you contact Weston?"

The man nods and conveys Terek's quick words.

"You have a pistol?" I ask Lawrence, who nods. "If we can rally a few more together I vote we go in."

"Gale, we don't know what else is happening. We're blind. Your arm's bleeding- "

"I'm fine."

"Weston says we're clear to the north. He can send some down."

I nod. "Five. Tell him to watch with the rest."

We sit beside of the houses that have begun smoking slightly, the bombs unlikely to go off in the same place twice. All of the Keep seem to have been killed or wounded too badly to move, a few groans of agony emit from the shifting wreckage.

"Gale!"

My name is in my ear this time, Terek jumps at the same moment I do, on the same channel as Weston surely, while I have the president yelling at me.

"I'm here."

"We've lost Archer."

"What do you mean?"

"His contact broke just as yours did. We can't get any of them. This has gone wrong, this has gone extraordinarily wrong."

"Tell me about it," my hand finds the canteen on my belt I've forgotten about, and I guzzle half of it.

"We need to get everyone out. We've lost twenty agents already. You take a team, go underneath and locate Archer's group, none of their vitals have dropped so they're alive somewhere. Paxton and the others will come down to get you, seventy percent above ground is secure."

Weston's agents arrive and we continue on the last path to Pine's entrance. There's one Keep inside who doesn't notice the bullet leaving my gun fast enough, but apart from him the cabin is empty.

"Under the floorboards back left corner," Pine instructs.

Someone tosses one of our modified grenades that forms a perfect cubic force field around the area its ready to destroy, and the silver door is quickly revealed.

"Our goal is to get everyone out," I say as another grenade blows the door open with a metallic clang. "I don't care who it is that gets in the way, shoot to kill. They will be."

It's only as we descend into dank, mildew-ridden concrete tunnels below that the events of the night begin linking in my mind. I just watched a family die, I could have died, Archer – he could die. There's no time to link anything, my mind won't allow it and erases all remnants of the puzzle and replaces it with the task at hand.

Locate Archer and his group and escape.

These tunnels are complex, some extend beyond the town outposts where they are heavily guarded, but at the center is all of the intelligence, all of the meeting rooms, the prisoner chambers, everything. There's no point in returning to the edge of the tunnels to kill those keeping watch at the end. Our breath crystallizes before us even down here; my eyes are running again, water picking up whatever dirt and blood is smeared on my cheeks as the water cascades down.

There's shared sniffling as we move onwards silently, and as I look at my comrade I see their eyes are burning as well, noses running something mad.

"Masks on!" I announce as my lungs toil like smoldering coals.

The relief is instantaneous.

"Your system isn't detecting anything," Pine says.

"Guess they're miles ahead of us," I say dryly. "I mean that in everyway."

"Okay now it is, it's more concentrated closer in."

"I'm getting it again," Terek mumbles from beneath her mask. Her body is so tiny I suspect it hasn't left her at all, but then my lungs sear once more, the slicing pain radiating from the ends of each into the back of my throat, somehow into my eyes.

"It's too strong," I cough. It's impossible to see ahead, pools of water shimmer before my eyes, blood surely must be running from my nose, nothing else feels so warm… I cough again and there's a blood splatter I think, though I'm unsure where…

"Hawthorne?"

My lips attempt to move, but they feel like they cracked and split right open…

The collapse is collective, I'm aware of that much, my knee hits the ground at an odd angle but I can't make a sound…

* * *

><p>When I open my eyes I half except to be greeted Johanna's red-brown hair splayed out on the pillow across from me, her pink lips begging to be kissed, her smooth alabaster legs entwined with mine. But what my legs are entwined with are not legs, not human legs at least. The cold metal tells me that I'm bound to a chair, tugging with all limbs confirms it.<p>

_Fuck_.

The piece in my ear is truly gone now, and as I look down so are my clothes save for my underwear; at least they have the decency to allow me to cover my most important parts. Ahead of me in a concrete wall, grey and sleek, though odd water stains mark it as though a leak had sprung, though as I look up the ceiling seems to be made of the same as the walls, the floor as well. There's a metallic green door to the left, incessantly buzzing yellow lamps hanging from the roof, swaying slightly on their chains indicating, I'm guessing, that the door has just closed. Around me there is shuffling, there are about ten of us, Archer's teams and mine. I find Destera and regret it instantly; her, Terek and the two other women with us have been stripped entirely. None of our mouths are bound, which seems irregular, but I chose to take advantage.

"Where's Archer?" My lungs do not sear now, though they should.

"I don't know. We got gassed."

"Same."

"Anyone have a knife?" Someone asks with a light chuckle from behind me.

"Where are we?" Terek ponders next.

"In the belly of the beast," one of our agents says. "Basically where we were aiming, not exactly how we were planning."

"I would've preferred to keep my clothing," Destera seethes.

"Has anyone figured out what happened?" I ask. Everyone shrugs.

"Archer was guessing Nolan Day was interrogated or something of the sort to get him to speak, and then executed. It would make sense."

"It would make sense!"

The door has flung open, a stream of Keep enter in their white uniforms, none have helmets, all are men, my stomach knots as I guess a reason for the gender divide. They station themselves around the room; the speaker chooses to stand directly before me, his face much too familiar.

I've found Lennox, but it is he has the ability to dispose of me now.

He's about my height, slightly bulkier with greying brown hair, a strong jaw and deep blue eyes; a coating of grey scruff lines his jaw. I feel like a child for a moment before this man who had been a Peacekeeper for twenty-two years before this, who has had significantly more experience in these situations than I ever have.

"Not quite the meeting you were expecting, is it?"

This is the many who has harassed Johanna for months, who has at times made her terrified of her own home, who has undermined any sense of security she had built back up. If I can somehow be the reason for his demise, no matter the cost to myself, if I can end him as I had planned I will be satisfied. This isn't about our raid; this is about him, about Johanna.

"What do you want from me?"

"To watch you writhe. And I want them to watch."

"Where's Archer?"

"Elsewhere. I wasn't too thrilled with him killing Eli Tupper."

"Just kill me then. If that's what you want. I can't stop you."

Lennox shakes his head, begins pacing. "Don't you understand? I want to watch you _writhe_." He holds his hands up in the air as though he's made a glorious proclamation. "I want to listen to you _scream_. I want to watch all of the blood leave your body."

Never had I anticipated anything so personal from a man whose face I've only seen on a screen, from a man I've never had any sort of interaction with.

"I want to do to you what I did to _her_."

My spine bristles, the churning in my stomach grows in my throat, my head. My diaphragm expands, contracts, loudly, with more force as my mind attaches meaning to his words.

"_You fucking bastard_."

I'm not supposed to react, the wiser move would be to remain stoic, but there are images flashing in my mind, his hands on Johanna's arms, holding her in place as others pour buckets of ice water over her head, her face set in determination against them; her screams, her denial of having any knowledge on the rebellion, her resolute secrecy unbreakable. And then as she's told me, the man forcing everyone to leave the room, the man binding her more tightly to the chair, removing his own pants –

"That's what I like to see," he laughs to me now.

The ropes burn against my wrists as my fists clench into tight white falls, my arms shaking with the force it takes to suppress the pressing stream of red fiery rage that burns in my throat, in my stomach, that shunts through my blood vessels, collects in my heart and shunts out once more. My body is pulsating with fury, but I keep my eyes trained on Lennox. He won't win like this.

"She had vigor," he paces again. "She was the toughest I've ever had to break. But she _did_ break."

"Why do you care? Why do you care about her now?"

"Because you stole her from me," Lennox's face is an inch from mine, the spray of his words hitting my face. "Because I almost had her – she was almost cracked irreparably. And then I could have anything."

"That's what all of this is? Because we rescued the tributes from the Capitol all those years ago?"

"Because people like you believe that you're heroes when you're just like the rest of us, you kill without a second thought. Because you people believe that you can bring peace into this world as though you've invented it. _Peace is not attainable_. True peace is not attainable while we have liars like yourselves running around playing model citizens, justifying your destruction in the name of peace. Peace can only come when we are honest, which is what I am. I have never fabricated a different version of myself; I don't pretend that I haven't destroyed things to get me where I am. I wear destruction like a badge, people know who I am and what I have done and respect me because of my honesty. You and I are very much alike. You, me and most of the world. We have stolen happiness from so many, and yet you, you and countless others are praised for it while the rest are persecuted and hunted. I do this; we do this because we are ready to hunt you, to condemn you for your crimes. We are not Peacekeepers, I have never once convinced myself anything that I did was to keep peace, but neither are you a keeper of any sort of peace."

"Then what is your idea of peace?"

"A world where everyone is honest. Where we are all branded with our crimes for all to see, and where the world decides how we shall be treated based on those crimes. I would surely be executed, _but so would you._"

"That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard."

A fist into my jaw, something pops as the pain shoots into my skull.

"A peaceful world weeds out the evil and leaves only the pure. A peaceful world does not cleanse itself of one kind of evil over the other."

His words make absolutely no sense; they fall back in on one another, contradicting his own actions.

"If you want peace so badly, how can you justify what you've done?"

"Everything I have done, since the outbreak of the rebellion until now, everything has been against those who lie, who live different lives than they deserve. That is why I enjoyed your wife so much, she would openly admit to her killings, but deny the rebellion, which was poised to rain terror upon us. I just wanted her to admit it, to admit that she was part of it, and then she would be pure, she would see that she deserved nothing less than what she received for her crimes. She deserved a life of agony and misery like the rest of us. As do the rest of you here."

"You're a lunatic."

"As are you."

The room falls silent, and I have no idea what to anticipate next.

"Are you prepared to pay for your evils, Gale Hawthorne?"

I don't move.

"I have someone in mind who may sway you. Karis!"

The door crashes open once more, and I expect a bloodied and battered Archer to be dragged through the threshold to be tortured before me. But he is neither of those thing, and his own two feet are what brings him through unaccompanied, his green eyes with their usual playful light. He doesn't so much as glance at anyone else except me, there's a grin on his face but I know that it is not for me.

"Hello, Gale."

"Seriously?" I manage to say. Betrayal is an understatement of the blow to my body, the numbness that soon follows as Archer takes his place beside Lennox where he looks unbearably comfortable.

The corner of his mouth turns up, a sneer almost. _Is this a joke?_

"What about Mel, and Leos and the baby? You're going to abandon them too?"

"You think I haven't arranged for their untimely endings?" His voice is calm, words all too serious.

"I can't fucking believe you," I shake my head, a dark cloud of anguish settles among the other agents who have remained silent. He's been my friend, our friend, and our leader. He knows everything, about everyone. "Has the entire thing be a hoax?"

"I've had every intention of ending you since the day I was hired. This elaborate plan we've made, for the raid. Any suggestion I've made, all the adjustments have been for my benefit over yours. The messages Pine found, those were false. I knew I could jolt you into calling the mission, I knew I could get you to run in here blindly."

"You've targeted me as well?"

"Yes. Everyone else here, well, I'm sorry friends. You seem to have misplaced your trust, been in the wrong places at the wrong times."

I don't want to believe it, but I think back quickly on the messages that Pine intercepted, Archer's ability to decode them in seconds; all of his nonchalant behavior throughout the years. Johanna mentioned that he arrived at the house mere seconds after the first Lennox letter arrived. It all falls in place.

"Are you going to kill me then? Or is he?"

I nudge my head at Lennox. Archer doesn't respond, merely holds my eyes with his entrancing green ones.

"Why don't I get started?"

In a flash Lennox has exposed a black pistol, has pulled and released the trigger.

A bullet soars towards me.

* * *

><p><strong>Let me know what you think! Any feedback is welcome. <strong>


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